Hidden
by Bella7
Summary: *COMPLETE!* ~It's a very strange feeling to be standing on the edge of the rest of your life~ R&R!!
1. Behind the wall

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Chapter One

Delaney Adams wiped her brow and set down the cardboard boxes she'd lugged up the steps of her new townhouse apartment. 

"Keaton?" She called her husband, who she could hear huffing up the stairs. "Honey?" Going out into the hall, she found him loaded with boxes and bags, trudging slowly up the steps. Delaney laughed and took two boxes from under his chin. "Set those down, we need a break." Happily, Keaton set them down and followed his young wife into the room that would soon be their bedroom. She collapsed on the floor and stared up at the beige ceiling. "So, what do you think, baby?" 

"It's nice."

"Nice? This place is amazing! What's the matter with you?" Keaton looked at her, 

"Well, yeah, it's amazing. But there's a lot of stairs babe." 

"Stairs, storage space, rooms, windows…there's a lot of everything. Can you believe they even have buildings like this in New York anymore?" Delaney gushed, propping herself up on one elbow. 

"All right, you're right. It's a catch."

"You won't believe all of the history a place like this has. From what the realtor told me, the building itself was built in 1890. 1890! Can you imagine? God! The stories these walls must have to tell." Keaton rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead. 

"My little history buff. I think I'll leave all the wall-stories to you, no offense." He rose to his feet. "I'm gonna get the rest of the stuff from the car."

"Do you want some help?" She offered, starting to get up.

"No, no. You stay here and relax, there's not that much left." Her husband left the room and made his way down the flight of stairs to the ground level. Left alone, Delaney stood and looked around the room. 

The realtor hadn't lied about the date when the building was erected, but from the looks of the blueprints, it certainly hadn't always looked the way it did now. Granted, she wasn't holding actual original blueprints. No, even her job at the museum couldn't get her something like that. However, she had been able to call in several favors with her friends at the county real-estate records building and have copies made of the original blueprints, in a much smaller scale. Studying the sketches of rooms and measurements, she realized with disappointment that the construction crew most likely gutted the townhouse and modernized it from the inside.

She spread the blueprints out on the ground, sat down, and gazed intently at them. The kitchen was in the same place, but had been expanded, there had originally only been one bathroom, the one that connected to the master bedroom. Also, there was only one other smaller bedroom, down the hall, where there was now two. (An addition had obviously been added.) And the basement was…enormous. Delaney squinted her eyes and studied the third page of prints. According to the paper in front of her, the basement was the same size as the upper floor. But she'd never seen a basement, the realtor had told her there was none. 

"That's weird." She said, confused. Her concentration was broken as Keaton called up the stairs that the movers were there and needed assistance. Delaney stood up again, rolled the blueprints and stuck them in her back pocket, deciding that the basement mystery would have to wait. 

Several hours later, when all furniture had been unloaded and the movers gone to help some other family, Delaney collapsed once again on the couch and sighed. Keaton moved her feet and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. 

"What a day." 

"Indeed." She looked at her watch, which read seven 'o' clock. "Wanna hear something weird?" Keaton sighed, Delaney was always finding odd things.

"What?"

"I was looking at the blueprints of this place today, and there's one for the basement." He looked at her. 

"What basement?"

"Exactly." She sat up and disclosed the blueprints, unrolling them to reveal the basement measurements. "What do you make of this?"

"I don't know, Del. Maybe it's a mistake." 

"Or maybe not! Think about it," she began excitedly. "How could they mix up blueprints like that? And especially with a place like this?" Keaton didn't want to get into this craziness. Delaney was always making mountains out of mole hills, over-analyzing situations…he didn't want to get into it that night, not when he was tired and hungry. She was exhausting once she got going. It was better to shut her up now instead of having her get her hopes up and be disappointed later. 

"It happens. It happens all the time, Delaney. It's a mix up, let it go." She sighed. "Are you hungry?" He asked, trying to apologize.

"A little."

"I'll go get us some food, okay?" She nodded. "Chinese?"

"Sure. Get egg rolls." Keaton smiled and kissed her gently. 

"I'll be home in a little bit." He shrugged on his old leather coat and grabbed the keys. After a minute or so, Delaney heard the distinct sound of a car pulling away and leaped to her feet. In the kitchen, she unrolled the papers that displayed the ground floor, and this peculiar basement. 

"Okay, Del. According to this, there should be a doorway with stairs leading down right about…here." She spoke aloud to keep herself company and went over to the wall opposite the sink and refrigerator, the one on the side of the house. Placing a hand on the wall, she pressed gently, hoping for a weak spot. There was nothing. She sighed and pushed again. "I can't be wrong." She examined the prints again and began knocking on the wall. Each knock, echoing against the plaster that was on the other side. Delaney growled with frustration- she didn't want Keaton to come home and simply say "I told you so," which was highly likely-she wanted to have something to show him, that her hunch wasn't just her looking for oddities. 

She yelled and began pounding furiously against the wall, not bothering to listen anymore. When she stopped, however, Delaney noticed something. Something absolutely wonderful. There was no echo. In an empty, silent house as the one she was in, things echoed. Things like hitting ordinary walls echoed. But there was nothing. Was there nothing because she couldn't hear it? Or was there nothing because this was not an ordinary wall that she was pounding on? Delaney didn't know, but there was only one way to find out. 

It took her a few minutes to locate the box she needed, it had been lost in a sea of cardboard labeled 'Kitchen Crap' and 'Bed Stuff.' She took a deep breath, retrieved the hammer from the 'Tools Box' and continued back into the kitchen. With another glance at the blueprints, Delaney took the pen that was holding up her hair and marked a circle on her target. The young woman blessed herself with the sign of the Cross and lunged the hammer at the wall with all of her strength. And something else wonderful happened. The wall broke. Just a little bit, but it broke. She hit the same spot again, still praying. The plaster began cracking as Delaney began wailing into the wall with primal force and…she hit something. Brick. But that didn't stop her, she kept on pounding until finally, the brick fell out of the wall.

Delaney stopped, breathing heavily, and stared at the hole she'd just placed in her new wall. "Keaton's going to kill me." She said aloud, almost in fear of her husband. Hesitantly, Delaney put a hand through the small hole she'd made. The air on the other side was cool and damp, not at all like the air in the kitchen. With the timidity of a mouse, she pushed on the wall around the hole, wincing as she heard more bricks crumbling and breaking. "This is taking too long." She talked to the room again, deciding that if she wanted something to show Keaton when he came home shortly, she was going to have to pick up the pace. Picking up the hammer again, Delaney turned it in her small hand, and attacked the wall again, this time using the hammer as a battering ram. 

Within a few minutes of ferocious ramming, the woman had cleared a space big enough for her to fit her petite frame through. She poked her head in first, coughing amidst the dust and grime, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. There were stairs on the other side of the wall she'd just destroyed. Stairs that led downward. Delaney chewed her lip in thought. _I've done this a hundred times._ She reasoned with herself, mentally making a reference to the many times she'd explored unknown areas of residence. She was a historian, it was what she did. _But still, this isn't a job. This is my house. _Eventually, the explorer in her won out and she carefully climbed through the space she'd made.

__

Holding on to the railing, Delaney slowly made her way down a flight of stairs, into a room that had obviously not been touched in some time. She squinted into the darkness, trying to make out what the large, shadowed shapes were. There was a chair, a couch and table, a few other pieces of furniture, and some triangular shaped thing, but she couldn't be sure of what that was. Realizing her findings would be useless unless she could see what she was doing, Delaney turned and went back upstairs, where she dug through three boxes in record time, victorious at last, pulling a flashlight out of one of the thousands of cartons. She flicked the light on and descended once again to the basement. 

The thin beam of light swept over the furniture she'd already identified, the couch, the chair, the table, until she found what she was looking for, a light fixture, hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. She made her way over carefully and pulled on the chain that hung down from the low ceiling. A dim bulb flicked a few times before finally illuminating the room. 

"Oh my God." Delaney couldn't believe what she had wandered into. She turned around slowly, taking in her surrounding with awe. She found herself in a room, an ordinary room that had been preserved for seemingly decades, if not longer. There was few pieces of furniture, only that which she had already seen, a few little tables, an armchair, and an artist's easel. Delaney wasn't worried about the furniture, it was what was around the room, on the walls, in the corners, everywhere she looked, there was a painting. There were tons of them, some hanging, most just resting against the wall, as if waiting to be picked up and put somewhere. In the corner, propped up in front of a door were three or four paintings of children. And on the table, there were two sketch pads that lay open, one exposing a drawing, the other, only the inside cover. Delaney could only guess that there were sketches and drawings on the other pages. On the edge of the same table, beside the easel, were a set of oil paints, brushes, and a few rags. Everything had been so well preserved, however, that she wouldn't have been surprised if someone came down the stairs after her and began cleaning up their paints. 

She breathed in deeply, slowly, almost afraid to disturb the cool, damp air. The room itself had such a used, loved look to it that Delaney _was_ afraid to disturb it's lived-in beauty. It was like being in church. There was a moment where the young woman was at a loss as to what to do. Should she investigate her findings? Go back upstairs and wait for Keaton? Wait for Keaton so she could stick her tongue out at him and say "I told you so?" As appealing as that last idea was, she figured that it couldn't hurt to look at the pictures, at least.

They were all of people, Delaney noticed right away. In all the sketches and paintings that she could see, not one was of a landscape or a still life. She leaned over the table and blew a light covering of dust off of the open sketchbook to reveal a charcoal drawn picture. It was a drawing of two boys sitting across a small table from one another, playing cards. One of them, the one on the left, had a cigar in his mouth, slicked back hair, and a mischievous look on his undeniably Italian face. His opponent, a handsome specimen, lighter hair, strong jaw, lively eyes, and a cigarette between two of his fingers. This one was deep in thought, chewing on his lip, brow furrowed, as he looked at his cards. It was quite striking. Delaney couldn't help but be impressed as she turned the page of the book, to find another detailed portrait of a young man with curly hair, large features, and a crutch holding up his left side. 

Page after page were filled with drawings of the same group of boys, ranging in age, ethnicity, and looks, but all dressed similarly. They wore buttoned shirts, vests, suspenders, and pageboy caps that were popular at the turn of the century. _But these can't be from that long ago. _Delaney thought, and focused her eyes on the corners of the pages, all of which were initialed 'MB-99.' Did that mean 1899? She couldn't believe that something as fragile as these pictures could be so well preserved that they were literally flawless when touch almost a hundred years later. _Remember Titanic? _The little voice in her head asked while she flipped through the book. _That was a movie, idiot. It couldn't really happen. _The two sides of Delaney's mind were fighting, that usually meant she was on to something. Just as she went to close the leather bound book, the young woman noticed an message on the inside cover:

__

To our future artist,

What do you see? We hope this helps you. 

You always got family here. Remember that. 

Merry Christmas.

Love, 

Your boys at the LH 

She smiled. The book had been Christmas gift. But from who? And who was it for? A future artist? LH? What on Earth was that? She quickly went to the other sketchbook, hoping to find another clue. Unfortunately, this one contained only more pictures of the same people, not even a note or message to lead her in any direction. There was, however, one thing she noticed in both of the books, how many times the artist had drawn the handsome man whom they'd captured playing cards. There were drawings of him carrying a small boy on his shoulders, selling newspapers to some wealthy gentlemen, eating, sleeping, he was everywhere! _But who was he? _ Delaney wondered, _and who kept drawing him? Why? _ These questions swirled around in her mind, begging to be answered. But other than the artist's initials and the year, there was nothing to indicate anything. Disheartened, she put the book down and walked over to the couch, where two painting sat propped on the cushions.

After testing the sofa gently, she sat down, praying it wouldn't break. It didn't, and gratefully, Delaney picked up one of the paintings. It was done in oils, and made her smile by looking at it. The boy from all of the sketches was in it, she could see that his hair was actually a dirty blond color. He was sitting on the very couch that she was, holding a baby over his head, smiling at the child. It was a beautiful painting, one that captured the life of both man and infant so well that Delaney could almost see them alive in her mind. She checked the corner: MK-03. MK? Whatever happened to MB? Then she realized…the artist was a woman. And that somewhere between 1899 and 1903, she'd gotten married to a 'K.' Now she just wanted to figure out who this man was. Husband? Boyfriend? Brother? Who could he be? 

"Delaney?" A voice called from upstairs, scaring the young woman to death. "Del? Are you here? I got us some General Tso's." Keaton. He must not be in the kitchen yet. "Del- holy shit!" Nevermind. "Delaney!" She got up, walked to the foot of the stairs, and smiled up at him.

"See? I told ya!"

"What is this?" He asked, nearing the point of being enraged.

"It's the basement I was telling you about. You know, 'the mix up.' The one that I let go." Keaton rolled his eyes. "Come on down, it's quite safe."

"It looks condemned." 

"Bring the food and come see what I've found." Cautiously, her husband stepped through her crawl-space, careful not to hit his head, and trudged slowly down the stairs. His cynical expression changed quickly when he realized just what his wife had discovered. 

"Wow. Where'd all this stuff come from Del?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. See, she initialed everything, but I haven't found anything with her name on it yet." She grabbed his arm and led him over to the sofa, sat him down, picked up the sketchbooks and handed them to him. 

"She?"

"Yes, the artist was a woman." 

"How'd you know that?"

"Look at the initials on those pictures." He did. "Now look at the ones on that painting." She motioned towards the painting of the man with the baby. 

"Wow."

"I know, aren't they incredible? But anyway, what I was saying was that the initials changed. She got married."

"Or, _he _ took a fake name." 

"I doubt that. Why would he only change his last initial?" Keaton considered this. 

"I guess you're right. So, my dear, what now?" 

"Well, I would _really _like to figure out who belongs to all of this stuff. If I had some help, I bet I could get through all of these paintings. Maybe there's a name on them somewhere." Delaney suggested hopefully. Her mate groaned.

__

" There's got to be at least seventy paintings here."

__

"We better get started then, don't you think?"

Almost an hour later, they had found nothing. Not even a first name. Keaton threw up his hands.

__

"I'm not looking any further. There's nothing here and our food is cold." Delaney rolled her eyes.

"Go plug in the microwave and heat it up! I just want to check one more thing." He squeezed her shoulders and went upstairs to re-heat their dinner. 

Left alone, Delaney stood and walked to the far corner of the dim basement where she'd seen the door before. She heard the beeping sounds of Keaton pressing buttons on the microwave and her stomach growled. She was more hungry than she realized, but shook her head and placed a hand on the dull brass doorknob and pulled hard. The door squeaked open, and she jumped back, fearing the worst. But there was nothing. Nothing but a large, black trunk, and a pair of black boots. Delaney raised an eyebrow at the trunk. '_Talk about my lucky day,' _she thought, pushing a few wild hairs out of her eyes. Without a second thought, she moved the boots away and pulled the trunk out into the open room. 

"Here. Dinner." Keaton called, returning to her. He was carrying two paper plates, loaded up with white rice, General Tso's chicken, and an egg role. "What is that thing?" He asked, motioning to the trunk with his chin. 

"Don't know yet. Help me open it." 

"No, you have to eat something first. Pull it up to the couch, we'll eat off of it." 

"Keaton! This may be the historical find of the century and you want to drip soy sauce all over it?" She threw up her hands and sat down on the floor. "We'll eat on the ground." He was too tired to argue with his wife, and joined her on the floor. She dug into her chicken with determination, but he couldn't help notice how she was eyeing the trunk hungrily- anxious to open it and continue her search for the artist responsible for the paintings. 

"For God's sake Del. Just open it." He gave in, there was no point in trying to have a nice moment with his wife when she was on the trail of something. She was like a basset hound when she got like this. Without wasting a second, Delaney sprung to her knees and moved herself over to the trunk. "Do you want some help?"

"Maybe. Let me work with the latches a second." She hooked her thumbs under the dull gold latches and pushed upwards. To her surprise, the case unhooked. With the excitement of a child, she pulled up on the lid, exposing the contents within. She looked inside and gasped. 

It wasn't the historical find of the century, but it was pretty cool. Inside this black trunk was what Delaney took to be the remnants of some woman's youth. There was a folded lump of pink fabric (when unfolded turned out to be a summer dress,) a small box containing a gold locket and a lock of brown hair, and a charm bracelet. Underneath the dress and the little box, however, was what Delaney was really interested in. Another box, this one containing about ten or fifteen black and white pictures. As she looked through them all, there was no doubt in her mind that these were all from the turn of the century. She could've squealed with excitement. But it got better, because under the pictures, and the dress, and the jewelry was…a black book. And not just any black book, but one with the words 'Diary' stamped on it in little gold letters. Delaney practically died. She pulled the little diary from the bottom of the box and held it in her hot hands, like a little girl with a new doll, almost afraid to touch it. In the end, however, curiosity won out again, and she carefully open the cover. 

"What did you find?" Keaton asked, bringing the food over to her. She grabbed her egg roll and began munching as she read, (with pure glee),

__

This diary is private property of Miss Moira Bailey. 

Absolutely no one is authorized to open this diary. 

If Miss Moira Bailey finds out that someone read her diary without her permission,

she will be forced to kill the offender and all those near and dear to him.

This means YOU! 

Delaney all but cackled. Moira Bailey. MB. She was real. The young woman took a deep breath, turned the first few pages, and began to read… 


	2. Working Girl

****

Chapter Two

_August 17, 1899_

Dear Diary,

Here I am, New York City. Oddly, the city isn't as exciting as I had hoped. Of course, anything would have been a disappointment after the way Mother raved on and on about it on the train here from Boston. Honestly, she simply wouldn't stop talking! But, anyway, we're here now, safe, in the process of getting settled into our new apartment in Manhattan. It's a nice place to live, I suppose. I'd much rather be back in Boston, but I will give New York this much, the people here are fascinating! Everyone looks like they've just stepped out of a book. It's all quite remarkable.

Oh, yes, the reason we moved. My grandfather, though getting on in years, refuses to stop working at that…newsboy house. He just flat out refuses. So, Mother, being brilliant as always, decided that it would be a fine idea if she and I came here, to New York, to help him. I'm not really sure what that means. He's told us over and over again that he doesn't want help, but here we are, helping. I don't know. I was told that I was to help with the 'routine maintenance of the lodging house.' Isn't it interesting that I spent two whole years and all that money at the university to be a teacher. And wouldn't you know, here I am, not teaching. What a world. 

I suppose there's not much to say, I've only been here for a day. Maybe there will be more to report tomorrow, when I actually begin working. 

Until then, 

Moira

Moira dotted her 'i'and put both her pen and diary away. She got up from her bed and went to the window, where the sounds of laughter, music, and hoofs clopping against cobblestone could be heard from the street. New York was beautiful at night, she decided, allowing a light, summer breeze to sweep through her open window and blow the long, brown hair off of her face. Aside from that breeze, the air was stifling. Moira had put on her lightest nightgown, pulled open all of the windows in the apartment, and still, she was burning up. 

__

Across the street was the Newsboys Lodging House- where her grandfather lived. All the lights were still on, and if she listened closely, she could tell that most of the noises she was hearing were floating over from the open windows of the lodging house. The LH, her grandfather, Francis Kloppman, had called it in his letters. He'd told her all sorts of stories, but recently they had all been about the strike. Moira had read about the children's strike and was anxious to meet the young man who had started it all. Her grandfather had gone on and on about this boy, Jack Kelly. He was so proud, it made her smile just thinking of all of the words he's used to praise this young man in his letters. 

Slowly, across the street, one by one, the lights began going off. Her eyelids began to droop just as the last window went dark. She looked at the watch she wore on a chain around her neck, it read ten thirty.

"Time for bed." She said aloud, climbing under the covers. The cool sheets felt like heaven on her boiling skin. She reached over to her bedside table and turned out her own light. Smiling in anticipation of the day ahead, Moira rolled away from the window and fell asleep. 

"Moira Bailey! Get up this instant!" They young woman rolled over and cracked one eye open. Her mother was standing over her. 

"What?" She groaned, longing to cover her head up and fall back asleep, but Kathryn Bailey shook her shoulder. 

"Get up! We're going to see your grandfather in thirty minutes. Get up!" She punctuated the word 'up' with another hard shake, and walked quickly down the hall. Moira rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to get her eyes to see straight. "Wake up, Moira!" She rolled her eyes, how did her mother know she was still in bed? Deciding it was useless to try and regain some sleep, she heaved herself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, where she washed up, then back to her room to begin the dreadful task of brushing the knots out of her hair. Every night, she would go to bed with her hair perfectly fine, and every morning, like clockwork, she would spend eons combing it to make it look like it had the night before. After that hellish chore was over, Kathryn came back into the room to assist her daughter with her corset. Bracing herself on the doorframe, Moira winced with pain every time the stays were tightened. 

"I think you've gained weight." Her mother declared. Moira rolled her eyes.

"No, I don't think I have. It's just the transition from Boston to New York. The change in environment make some people go puffy you know." She'd read that in some woman's magazine. 

"Well, whatever it is, you look a little stocky." Kathryn pulled tightly on the last few stays before turning her daughter around and patting her on the cheek. "Still beautiful, of course, but a little stocky." Moira sighed. Her mother was always making saves like that. "What are you planning on wearing?"

"The blue." Kathryn nodded and pulled the blue suit out of the closet. It was a lovely color, a long cornflower blue skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a jacket that matched the skirt. Moira dressed quickly, getting a glimpse at the time, and allowed her mother to twist and fasten her hair until the older woman was satisfied. And finally, when the preparations were completed, Kathryn led her only child down the stairs of the apartment building, out the door, and across the street, where her grandfather was waiting. 

Upon seeing him standing at the door, Moira forgot all reservations and broke into a run. He opened his arms to her and hugged her tightly when she reached the other side of the road. She breathed in the smell of cigars and butterscotch, a scent that would forever remind her of this man. He pulled away and held her at arm's length. 

"Dear me, let me have a look at you. You look more like you mama everyday. Did anyone ever tell you that?" Kloppman exclaimed, smiling. By this time, Kathryn had joined them and was standing behind Moira.

"Hello, Papa." She greeted in a delicate voice.

"Oh, Katie. Katie, Katie, Katie." Her grandfather was the only person Moira had ever heard call her mother Katie. Not even her late father had called her that. "Come in, come in. We'll have breakfast." The two woman were led into the lodging house, where it was oddly quiet. 

"Grandpa? Where is everyone?" Moira asked as she followed her family into the little kitchen in the back of the lodging house. 

"Why, they're working of course."

"All day?"

"Usually. Oh, they'll be home eventually. The papes don't last forever." He noticed her confusion. "Something wrong, my dear?"

"No, I was just…what exactly am I supposed to do?" Kathryn intervened.

__

"Moira, why not wait until after breakfast, that way we can eat in peace, and then your grandfather can show us around. It will be so much nicer this way."

"Sorry, I just thought…."

"Ladies don't think, Moira dear." 

"Now, now, Katie. I think it's obvious the girl has a good head on her shoulders. Why not let her use it?" Kloppman asked, making Moira smile. "Now, please, have a seat. What would you like for breakfast?" He didn't have much, but the old man managed to make them some ham and toast, and some coffee. 

Once the mini-breakfast was finished, Kathryn insisted on a tour. "There's nothing to show, Katie. Just some rooms."

"There's _always_ something to show. Please, Papa. Just a quick look around the house?" Moira almost saw what it must have been like when Kathryn was a child.

"Well, all right then, just a quick look." He gave in, standing up.

Kloppman showed them just about everything. From the common room, the office, his own living quarters, the boys room, the bathroom, they got the whole she-bang. When they were finished, the trio had ended up in the common room where they spent the rest of the day catching up on old family business. Unfortunately, Moira's mind was not on the conversation, but on what exactly she was doing here. 

"Excuse me, but I have a question." She interrupted, leaning forward in her chair. 

"Yes, my dear?" Kloppman asked, turning to his granddaughter.

"Well, the reason I'm here, is to help you…right?" He looked surprised.

"Help me? What with?" Moira turned to her mother.

"You didn't tell him?" Kathryn sighed.

"Papa, I know that you don't want to stop working, so I've come up with an idea." The old man raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "If Moira helps out, you know, does some cleaning and washing for you, then you can keep working without the worrying the rest of the family."

"Moira? Help me?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Well, what does she think of all of this?" He asked, turning back to Moira, who shrugged.

"If it helps you, I have no problem with the whole situation."

"In that case, I think it's a wonderful idea! But we'll have to give you something else to do. The boys do all of the washing, and most of the cleaning too, but I'm sure we'll be able to find something." Kathryn stood, just then, and looked at the time.

"Dear me, I'm afraid I must be off. I'm meeting a few ladies for tea this afternoon." She explained, gathering her things. Moira stood also,

"Do I have to leave too?"

"No, of course not. You have to stay here and get to work." She kissed the air beside both of her daughter's cheeks. "Have a lovely time, and be careful coming home. Make sure someone walks her home." Kathryn directed that last part to her father, who nodded, before she swept out of the lodging house and on to…wherever it was that she went during the day. 

Moira and Kloppman talked for a little while longer, she told him all about school, and how she wanted to be a teacher, and anything else he wanted to hear. 

"And what do you like best?" He asked, when she was finished. She had to think about that one.

"Well, I would have to say that I liked my English Literature class the best. I was good at that." Kloppman nodded. They sat for a minute in silence before Moira began prodding him for strike stories that he was only so eager to tell. He was just getting to the part about Warden Snyder's visit when he stopped suddenly and smiled.

"I have the perfect job for you, my sweet." He grabbed her hand, pulled her through the foyer, and into the office, which she noticed, was a complete mess. 

"Here?"

"If you want. You can be my bookkeeper." Moira raised her eyebrows. How on earth was she supposed to work in such a mess? Kloppman seemed to read her mind. "You can organize today, of course. But I think you would do very nicely in here." He looked around, as if reassuring himself. "Yes, very nicely." The elderly man looked around once again and smiled at his granddaughter before taking out his pocket watch, he almost leaped at the time. "Lord, is that the time? I've to talk to someone about fixing the bathroom. I'll be home later." With that, he grabbed his bowler hat and left, just as quickly as her mother had. Moira shook her head, glanced around the pigsty and decided she'd better get to work. 

An hour or so later, when Moira was finally making a dent in the endless mass of outdated papers, three boys walked in, talking and laughing loudly. They paid her no attention and continued upstairs without ever acknowledging her. Slowly, more boys, of all ages, began to filter into the house, some glanced at her with curiosity, but most ignored her as they spread out around the building. 

She kept working, trying to ignore the noise, but found it utterly impossible to do such when a tall, blond kid swaggered in and announced his presence. "Good evenin' boys! Ya miss me?" In a loud, and thickly accented voice. 

"COWBOY!" Chorused a group of young men and boys, from all over the house. Moira threw up her hands. She was now considering it useless to try and get anything done. Just as she was about to enter her hour of need, her grandfather walked in, carrying a tool box. "KLOPPMAN!" The same voices cried, mostly from the common room, where Moira could only guess what was going on. He regarded them all with a few scattered greetings and entered the office.

"Hello my dear. How's it going?" He asked, setting the tool box on the counter. Moira blew a breath threw her bangs. 

"Well, it's a little hard to concentrate. Those boys are kind of…noisy." Her grandfather laughed. 

"They're supposed to be. They're not just boys. They're newsies. Come on, I want you to meet them." _They're not just boys, they're newsies. _ The phrase repeated in Moira's mind as she followed him out to the common room, where a card game had struck up. There were boys everywhere, smoking, talking, laughing. She immediately felt uncomfortable. "Boys!" Kloppman shouted, getting everyone's attention. 

"Who's dis, Klopp?" That obnoxious blond kid asked, standing up from the card game. As he came forward, Moira could see that his fingers were black with newsprint, his clothes filthy, hair greasy, and face smudged.

"Mind your manners, Cowboy. This is my granddaughter, Moira Bailey." 

"Oh, well in that case," He extended a dirty hand. "Jack Kelly. You can call me Cowboy." Moira jaw almost dropped. _This_ was _Jack Kelly?_ The famous strike leader? He was…well, not what she'd expected. She looked at her grandfather.

__

"Yes, Moira. This is the one I was telling you about."

"All good things, I hope." Jack put in, smiling. 

"Of course." Kloppman assured him. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'm going to see what I can do about that faucet. I'll leave you to get better acquainted with the boys." Kloppman grabbed his toolbox and shuffled upstairs without another word. Moira watched helplessly as her only lifeline disappeared up the stairs.

"So, Moira," Jack said her name like 'Moy-rah' she almost cringed. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

"I'm working here."

"Really? Hear dat boys? We've gotta goil on our team!"

"Well, actually, I'll just be working in the office." She stated, quietly, trying to make up an excuse to get away from these people. 

"Are ya sure? Cause, in my personal opinion, you'd make yaself a great newsie." His annoying voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"No thank you. I have no interest in selling newspapers."

"You say dat now."

"And I'll say it later, I assure you. Recruit some other helpless girl, I'm not cut out for this kind of work." Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Oh my. Somebody has a chip on their shoulder. Sorry I boddad sweetheart." Moira couldn't help but notice how he barely ever used the 'r' sound in his speech. She turned on her heel and stalked back to the office, cheeks burning. A few minutes after burying herself into the mess of paper once again, Moira was aware of someone else in the room. She looked up to see a boy who looked around her age, with curly dark hair and a blue eyes standing at the counter.

"What?" She asked irritably. "If you're one of Jack disciples, come to harass me some more, just get it over with so I can go back to work."

"No, that's not it at all. Umm, I'm David. Hi." He held up his hands in a surrendering stance. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Is he always like that?" Moira asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes again.

"Not always, just when he's feeling particularly unbearable." 

"And, is that often?" David laughed.

"He was just fooling around with you, don't take it to heart." She growled.

"Oh, he's just so annoying!"

"Tell me about it. I'm sorry, I couldn't hear your name in there, would you mind telling me again?"

"Moira. Moira Bailey."

"Moira, that's a pretty name." 

"Thank you." She smiled at him, before catching a glimpse at the time. "Oh, heavens. My mother's going to kill me. I was supposed to be home for supper."

"Where do you live?" He asked quickly. "I'll walk you."

"Oh, just across the street." Moira pulled on her jacket, and scribbled a note to Kloppman, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her if she called to him. David followed her out the door.

"So, where are you from?" He asked as they crossed the street."

"Boston. And you?" She had noticed that he didn't have the detestable New York accent.

"Pittsburgh. We moved here after my father got hurt."

"Oh, was it nice in Pittsburgh?"

"Same as any other place, I suppose." They reached the door of the apartment building. 

"Well, this is it. You really didn't have to walk me." 

"A lady should have an escort at all times." Moira smiled and put a hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and I wouldn't worry about Jack if I were you." He assured her, before smiling and turning away.

Moira scurried inside and up the stairs, where she found her mother already asleep on the sofa. She rolled her eyes. _A hard day of having tea must really tire one out._ She thought sarcastically, pulling a cover up to Kathryn's chin and turning out the lights. 

__

August 18, 1899

_Dear Diary,_

_It turns out that I'm to be Grandpa's bookkeeper. Wonderful! What the devil do I know about keeping books? Anyway, I met the newsies today. Lord, what a crowd. And led by Jack Kelly. Yes, the famous strike leader, Jack Kelly. He's a pig! Can you believe it? I couldn't. However, even though I'm to spend my days sorting through papers that date back to 1871, and live and work amongst the crudest and most obnoxious of New York, there is a bright spot. I believe I am on my way to making my first friend here in New York. His name is David, and so far, he's the only person who's company I can actually stand for more than a minute. What a novel idea. I'm not sure what I think about the newsies- perhaps they'll grow on me. And perhaps the Brooklyn bridge will fall down on my head. Oh well, it's been a long day and I'm tired. Good night. _

Moira. 

She changed quickly, tucked her diary away and tried to block out the sounds from across the street. She just wanted sleep. And luckily for her, sleep came, but only filled with dreams of Jack Kelly and other noisy boys known only as "Newsies." 


	3. A Reason To Hate

Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, just Moira and the plot. Don't know why you'd want to, but if you feel the dire need to borrow her, just ask _sil vous plait_! Merci! 

Chapter Three

"'Ey! Moira!" Jack Kelly's overly loud voice resounded through the house. Moira rolled her eyes. 

"What?" She yelled back. Her mother would surely die if she knew how her daughter had to act around the newsies. She _had_ to be loud, wasn't able to sit properly when they all crammed onto the couch, a whole lot of other things a lady wasn't supposed to do. Between the things she said and the things she wanted to say…well, Kathryn just wouldn't have been impressed.

She'd been working there for almost a two weeks, and it had proved to be quite boring. After the office had been organized, Moira realized that one of her only real duties would be to balance the books and whatnot…but it wasn't the end of the month yet, so there really wasn't anything for her to do. Instead of sitting around being bored, she brought a stack of novels that she'd been wanting to read. In fact, she was trying to get through one at the moment, but Jack Kelly obviously had some pressing issue that needed her immediate attention. 

Moira made no move from her relaxed position (chair leaning back, feet on the desk) as he sauntered into the office. "Can I help you with something, Kelly?" 

"Whacha reading'?" She put the book down and showed him the cover.

"Is that all you wanted?" 

"Actually, I have a question." 

"What is it?"

"Where's ya granfadda?"

"How would I know that, Jack? He goes out and does what he does, and then he comes home." She looked at the clock. "Why aren't you out 'carrying the banner' or whatever it is that you newsies call it?" He smiled.

"No, you're right. We carry da banner. But I gots done early today."

"Lucky me."

"Nah, sorry sweedhaht. I'se gonna go see Sarah. Catch ya lata!" He left without another word.

"Not if I can help it." Moira muttered under her breath. She was getting to a point in her life where hating Jack Kelly not only worked for her, but seemed to be essential to her state of mental stability. She'd honestly tried to put up with him, but it didn't work. He was too…something. Something that bothered her, she just didn't know what it was yet. Poor Sarah.

She knew that Sarah was David's sister, and that she and Jack had some kind of 'thing' going on. Moira could only offer sympathy to a girl she'd never met and wonder in amazement how she dealt with a nuisance like Jack. _Maybe he's a good kisser, or something. _She couldn't believe she'd just thought something like that. Did it matter if he was a good kisser or not? Of course not, let Sarah worry about that. In an attempt to purge her mind of the thought, she buried her nose in her book once more.

"Who are you reading today?" A friendly, familiar voice asked. Moira smiled, but didn't look up.

"W.M. Thackray."

"Sounds interesting." David mused. 

"I would certainly hope so." She commented, marking her place and standing to see eye to eye with her new friend. "You're back early too! What on earth is going on?"

"I'm not sure, I'd gone through seventy by noon."

"I'm impressed." Moira glanced around the counter. "Where's Les?" She asked, worried. She'd taken an immediate liking to the little boy from the minute she'd met him on her second day of work. 

"Oh, Race took him to the track today. He told me he's trying to find his own personal selling spot." 

"He's adorable." She was glad that he'd decided to go with Racetrack. She didn't mind him. He was actually an all right individual, if one could get past his gambling addiction and love of cigars. 

"So, Moira, what are your plans for the afternoon?" She held up the book, 

"Just _The Newcomers_ and I. What are you going to do?"

"I was going to try to find Jack. Any ideas where he might be?" David asked as Moira made a face.

"He went to see Sarah. God bless her."

"What do you have against Jack?" He asked. She shrugged.

"He's just so…I don't know. For one thing he's so loud. And over confident. And…loud." She trailed off lamely.

"You don't like him because he's loud? That doesn't seem very fair."

"Well, it isn't, I suppose. But there's something about him that just bothers me. I can't put my finger on it. 

"Why don't you give him a chance? You may be pleasantly surprised." David gave her a wink and turned from the counter. 

"Where are you going?"

"Back to work."

"Oh. Why did you stop in then?"

"Just to say hello." He told her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She smiled.

"Hello."

"Hello." David gave her another smile, "I'll see you later, Moira."

"Goodbye!" She called, before hearing the door slam.

Moira read for the rest of the afternoon, on the verge of being bored out of her mind. Some time around four, the little bell above the door jingled and she looked up.

"Dere she is!" Jack exclaimed upon seeing her. She sighed, but hid her disappointment when she noticed his hand attached to that of a pretty girl with long brown hair and big, brown eyes. _Sarah._ She automatically thought. "Are ya busy, Moira?" He asked as they approached the desk. 

"Not terribly. Can I help you with something?" She asked, remembering what David had said about giving Jack a chance. 

"Have ya seen Davey today?" Jack drummed his fingers on the counter as he spoke. 

"Yes, I have. He stopped in just after one." Moira looked from Jack to Sarah, realizing he probably wasn't going to introduce them, she extended a hand. "You must be Sarah."

"Yes, I am." The two girls shook hands and Jack seemed to remember who she was.

"Oh, Sarah. Dis is Moira, Kloppman's granddautah."

"Oh, of course. David's told me all about you." Sarah said, smiling. She turned to Jack. "If David's not here, we should go find him."

"Good idea." Jack agreed.

"I'm just going to go get the book he left here." She turned back to Moira. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too." Moira returned, and watched Jack follow her with his eyes all the way upstairs. 

"Ain't she somtin?" 

"Yes, she's something."

"What about you?" He asked, suddenly. Moira didn't understand the question. 

"What about me?"

"Are you…Y'know, _involved_ with anyone?" 

"I can't see how that's any of your business."

"Just curious. So, is dere anyone?"

"I don't know. It's a complex situation."

"Try me." He countered.

"No, thank you."

"At least tell me his name." 

"Jonathan." She answered quietly, not wishing to disclose anymore information.

"I see. And wad happened? You leave Jonathan hahtbroken in Boston?"

"No, actually. He's at school in London." Moira was getting irritated with his interrogation.

"So, wad you'se tellin' me is dat you'se worried dat he's gonna find somebody else in London?" Jack pressed on. She moved her bangs out of her eyes.

"As I've said before, Jack, this really isn't any of your business."

"Well, I wouldn't worry." He began gently, covering her hand with his. "I'd imagine you'd look pretty good from a t'ousand miles away." At this, Moira pulled her hand away from his, the tips of her ears burning as he laughed at his own joke.

"Honestly, can't you find something better to do with your life than to make mine miserable?" She asked, infuriated. He opened his overly-loud mouth to reply, but Sarah popped her pretty head into the office. 

"Ready to go?" She asked, smiling at Jack, who nodded before turning back to the counter.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, Moira."

She said nothing, but waited until the door was fully shut before she yelled, "I CERTAINLY HOPE NOT!" The sound of her shriek echoed off of the walls of the empty lodging house. She sat down, still fuming over what Jack had said. He'd just about called her ugly! The nerve of that boy! The sheer nerve! Moira didn't care what David had said- she hated Jack Kelly- and that was that. 

****

***

_August 29, 1899_

__

Dear Diary,

_I'm not sure how much more of Jack Kelly I can possibly bear. Having this much rage cannot be good for anyone. I've tried to like him, or at least tolerate him, but it is of absolutely no use! He has to be one of the rudest people I've ever met in my life, with no respect for human feelings (especially mine) and no disregard for anyone but himself. He insults me on a daily basis, I am constantly the punch line of his jokes…I just don't know how much I can stand. Please God make him go away. Please? I'll do anything. _

_Moira_

Delaney read the entry a few times. She felt sorry for Moira. Poor girl, in the city with her weird mother, getting harassed by Jack Kelly on a daily basis. Beside her, Keaton was fast asleep, snoring like a pig. She rolled her eyes. Her husband had been only slightly interested in her findings, he'd even helped lug the trunk upstairs, while she took the sketchbooks and diary. But aside from that, he really didn't care. In his eyes, this was their house now, and the past should stay in the past. Delaney refused to believe this. Discovering the past was how she made her living.

Moira Bailey wrote faithfully in her diary everyday. Her life was mildly entertaining- her entries about Jack were just plain funny- but because of the lack of details given, Delaney wasn't finding anything useful out. Still, she reminded herself, she'd only been there for two weeks. 

"There has to be something more." She said quietly to herself, looking, once again into the little box that contained the locket, the charm bracelet, and the lock of brown hair. She was certain if she kept reading that she would find something that unlocked the mystery behind each of the items. Delaney was most curious about the lock of hair. It was just so strange. So deliciously random. It was the kind of thing she, as a historian, thrived on. 

She looked at the time: eleven thirty. Luckily, it was Friday. Still, the next day she would have to start unpacking, and that took energy. "Well, Moira. I guess I'll just have to wait to see about that box." Delaney told the book, closing it and turning off the light next to her side of the bed. She knew, she just _knew_ that the answers she needed were in that diary. She'd just have to keep reading. 


	4. Cigarettes and Fat lips

Usual disclaimers. Thanks so much to those who review! It not only makes my day, it also gives me wicked inspiration to keep writing-so thanks!

Chapter Four

__

September 5, 1899

Dear Diary,

I am so very sick of people telling me to try to get along with Jack. David, Les, Racetrack, and now Grandpa! He told me today that if I couldn't get along with him, then I should just ignore him. He obviously has never tried to ignore Jack Kelly. It's humanly impossible. In fact, he's so good a being un-ignorable, that I have to doubt whether he's ever been ignored in his whole life. 

Something else I tire of, talking about Jack Kelly. It really gets weary after awhile. There's only so much I can complain about without sounding repetitive. I am tired, Diary, very, very tired. 

Moira

Moira yawned audibly as she put the diary away in its usual spot. There was a knock at the door and Kathryn entered.

__

"Oh, hello, Mother." She greeted yawning again.

"Moira, dear, is everything all right?" 

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" She lied, not wanting her mother to know about her issues with Jack Kelly.

"You just seem so tired all of the time. I worry about you. You've got bags under your eyes, you look pale- I think you're working too much." Moira fought off the urge to laugh cynically. She had really only just finished the actual work she was to do while she was in the office, and that was to balance the books, figure out finances, and pay the bills. 

"I'm fine." 

"No you're not. You hate me for bringing you here." Kathryn sniffed, obviously upset, and looked away.

"I don't hate you."

"But you hate New York, I know you do."

"I just…miss Boston. That's all." She said, trying to comfort her distraught mother. 

"Well I can't understand why. You couldn't find a husband there." Suddenly, all remnants of the sensitive woman Kathryn had been a minute ago vanished. Moira rolled her eyes. Not this again.

"I didn't find a husband in Boston because I didn't _want_ one there and I don't want one here."

"Yet another thing I don't understand about you. You're seventeen years old. Why, when I was your age I was married. But what do you do want to do? Not get married- you want to teach children. For heaven's sake! What kind of goal is that? You had poor Jonathan practically begging for your hand, but instead of saying 'yes' like any other girl would have, you said 'no' and turned down a perfectly good marriage proposal. Why? To go to college!"

"Since when is it a crime to want an education?" Moira asked exasperated. Their arguments always ended like this. Kathryn sighed and composed herself. 

__

"I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

"I know that. But you shouldn't worry so much, I'm fine. And I'll be fine. I'm just tired." Both women had softened their tone. "I should go to sleep." Moira finished, chewing on her lower lip.

"Yes, I suppose you should. Good night, dear."

"Good night, Mother." With that, Kathryn retreated, closing the bedroom door behind her. 

As soon as her mother was out of sight, Moira retrieved her diary once again and opened to the page she'd just been writing on and wrote towards the bottom,

_P.S._

Mother is insane and only wants to marry me off so she can stop paying for my meals. I'm convinced of this, and no one is going to tell me otherwise.

She shut the diary for the second time, pulled the covers over her head, and fell into a beautiful, dreamless sleep.

The heat wave broke that night, and it poured all throughout the next day. Moira crossed the street quickly, holding a book over her head, trying not to get wet. It was a futile effort, however, as water was being tossed from the heavens in buckets. Angry buckets that were punctuated by claps of thunder and flashes of lightning. When she got inside the lodging house, Moira was almost completely soaked through. Her clothes were drenched, hair, falling out of it's bun and curling wildly around her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she made her way into the office, and almost laughed, thinking of what her mother would think if she saw her like that. 

The house was noisy, when she got there, as almost all the newsies were still inside. "Hello boys. What's going on?" She asked, wondering why no one was working.

"It's rainin' Moira." Mush pointed out. She gave him a look, and then looked down at her drenched self to let him know that she knew that. "Who wants ta buy papes when they so wet ya can't even read 'em?" 

"I see. So, nobody sells when it's raining?"

"Only da bravest of da brave." Racetrack put in, looking from his card game with a miserable looking Kid Blink. She expected that he was going to say something about Jack, when the devil himself stood from the couch and stretched. 

"Not even Kelly's working today?" She asked, only slightly interested. 

"Not today. I needed a day off anyway." Jack answered, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "You're looking lovely today, Moira."

"Shut up." Moira snapped, turning on her heel and stalking into the office. Once there, she began to unpin her tresses and shook out her hair. After she was sure that her hair was free of pins, she tied the insufferable curls at the nape of her neck with a green hair ribbon she'd left there the week before. 

Propping her feet up on the desk, her skirt dripped water on the floor, Moira dried off her new book, _The Romance of War _off on the only dry part of her jacket, opened it, and began to read. 

"So you're just gonna sit dere and read all day. Is dat it?" Moira sighed and looked up.

"Jack, I was almost certain we'd come to an agreement. You don't like me, and I don't like you. It would be best if we stayed away from one another."

"Do you do anything 'cept read?" He asked, ignoring her.

"Why do you care?"

"Coz too much reading' ain't good for ya. It hoits your eyes and rots your brain." At this, she rolled her eyes.

"That's utterly ridiculous. You ought to write newspapers, not sell them." 

"Nah, I can't spell. And I'd need someone to do all my grammarizin' for me." He explained. 

"There are people that do that for a living, you know. They're called editors."

"Yeah, dat's it." 

"So, if there's nothing else…" Moira looked at him, then down at her book.

"I'm sorry, Moira, but you ain't gonna sit and read all mornin', it ain't healt'y. It ain't healt'y and I ain't gonna let you do it."

"What?"

"Come play cahds wid us." 

"I don't play cards."

"Why? Coz your mudda told you wadn't polite? Live a little." He prodded, making her sigh.

"I'll play one game, that's all." 

"Dat's all I'm askin'. You need ta loosen up a little. Find da fun." He told her, leading her slowly into the other room. "Racetrack! I found ya anodda opponent!" Jack called, when they arrived. Race looked up.

"Oh, c'mon! Moira don't play cahds."

"She's gonna try, let her try, Race." 

"Well, in dat case," Race stood and brushed off the seat across the table from him, "have a seat my fair lady." 

She sat and listened intently as Racetrack explained the rules of poker to her. "Wait, wait, wait. I don't have any money to bet with." Everyone in the room laughed as Moira looked around, confused. "What's so funny?"

"Moira, Moira. Do you think dat _we_ have anyt'ing to bet wid?" Racetrack asked, while all the boys still continued to laugh. "We pay in I.O.U.'s. Do you know wad dose are?" Moira shook her head. "It stands for I Owe You. Take a piece of paper, write out somtin' dat you wanna wager, and toss it in da pot." 

"Oh, I see." 

"Good, good. You'll catch on fast." He assured her as he began to deal.

Racetrack was right she did catch on fast. What she had the most fun doing was figuring out what to wager. She ended up playing four games, and losing each time. By the end of an hour, Moira owed Racetrack her inheritance, her mother, a strand of pearls, her first born child, and her soul, just to name a few. She was having so much fun, laughing and talking with the newsies, that Moira realized, maybe for the first time, that they weren't so bad of a bunch. 

"Cigarette?" Kid Blink offered, taking it from his mouth and holding it out to her. 

"Oh, no. I don't smoke."

"Sure you do! Everyone smokes!" Jack exclaimed, intercepting the cig and taking a long drag before handing it to Moira. "Try it."

"No, I don't think-"

"Try it, Moira!" Les yelled, from somewhere behind her. She turned around and looked at him, shocked. He shrugged. She sighed, took the cigarette, and put it to her lips.

"Now, I just…breathe it in?" She asked stupidly. Jack nodded through his chuckles. She held the cig in between her lips and took a deep breath, filling her mouth, lungs and throat with smoke. Immediately, she began to cough. Jack jumped in and took the cigarette from her and held it between his own fingers. 

"Okay, maybe dat was a little too much for a beginnah. We'll take it one day at a time." He laughed before handing the cigarette back to Blink. 

"Well, thank you boys, this was fun, but I'm gonna go back to the office." Moira excused herself after losing her fifth game of poker, much to the disappointment of the newsies. As she left, she noticed Jack and Boots talking heatedly about something. She looked at them for a short while, but unable to make anything out, turned and walked back to the office, where she picked up exactly where she'd left off. 

Sometime after lunch, Moira heard someone talking out in the hall. She put her book down and listened,

"You still wanna do it?"

"Yeah, why not? It'll be funny." 

"How much?" Moira recognized Boots' voice,

"Just…I dunno, a inch or somtin." That was Jack's. She got up and walked to the foyer, where the two boys were standing.

"An inch of what?" She asked, making them both jump a mile high.

"Oh…uh Boots is makin' a…dress-"

"Tablecloth." Boots threw in quickly.

"Yeah, a tablecloth. And he needs ta cut a inch off, coz it's too long." Moira eyed them carefully.

"I didn't know you made tablecloths, Boots." 

"Yeah, it's my uh…uh…. Hobby. Yeah, it's my hobby." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." With that, Moira turned back around and went behind the desk. Something was up- this was apparent. She didn't know what, but she prayed it didn't have anything to do with her.

She looked at the clock, three thirty. Her days consisted of looking at that clock. There was nothing else to do, nothing but read and watch the clock. She was so bored it almost killed her. _The Romance of War _had reached a dull point when her eyelids started to droop. She yawned, and blinked a few times, ready for a nap,

"Moira!" 

"Kelly, what do you want?" She groaned, starting to get up.

"No, no!" Jack said, almost urgently. "Don't get up!" 

"Fine." Moira sat back down, her ponytail hanging over the back of the chair, feet propped up on the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…how's you're book?" He asked.

"Fine. It's hit a dull few chapters, but fine."

"Good. Good. What's it about?"

"Why do you want to know?" She asked, suspiciously.

"I'm just wondering."

"BOOTS!" Pie Eater called from the next room. Moira then heard the undeniable sound of scissors, and knew, without a doubt, that her hair was caught in between them. Or…had been between them. Jack's face went white and his mouth hung open, like a fish's gasping for air. Moira reached back and felt her ponytail, where there was only a few inches left. She spun around to see Boots standing, in absolute shock, with at least half a foot of her hair in his hand. Untying the ribbon, Moira pushed her hair forward, where it now only brushed the tops of her shoulders. She looked at the ends, choppy and now spilt, and wanted to cry. But she didn't cry. She screamed. 

Jack winced as the other newsies came running in, looking for the commotion. Several mouths dropped as they saw Moira, but no one said a word. It was dead silent. 

"Now, uh, Moira. I t'ink you should just calm down and try and see this…calmly. I t'ink-" Jack was cut off by Moira's fist landing square on his lower lip. She pulled back her hand in pain.

"OW!" She cried, making some of the newsies want to laugh, but no one did. "Jack Kelly, stay away from me! I don't want anything to do with you! EVER! I hate you and everything about you! There is nothing that I would like more than to forget you ever existed!" Moira screamed at him, before grabbing her book, her jacket, and whatever was left of her dignity, and storming out of the lodging house. 

David came running after her, also getting soaked in the rain that was still pouring down. "Moira!" He called, but she kept walking. He caught up to her and grabbed her wrist. "Moira!" 

"Let go!" She cried, yanking free.

"At least let me walk you home." He begged, she sighed.

"I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway. Look at me! I look awful! My hair…" She trailed off, wanting to cry again as they crossed the street and stood under the onning of her apartment.

"You don't look…bad." David said, trying to make her feel better. "It'll grow back. That's what hair does." 

"Don't lie to me. It won't help." Moira said, looking down at the ground.

"If it makes you feel any better, I have a feeling that Jack is going to have one hell of a fat lip tomorrow." 

She smiled. "Well, he deserved it. But unfortunately, I think I broke my hand doing that." David laughed. "Honestly, how do boys fight all the time without hurting themselves?" 

"Go inside and put ice on it." He ordered, pushing her towards the door. "Moira." David called, making her turn around again. "You're still beautiful, you know." 

"Thank you David." She reached out and hugged him briefly, before he pulled away. 

"Now go ice your hands." She went inside and walked up to the apartment, which she luckily found to be empty. What she was going to have to tell her mother, Moira didn't know, but went into the bathroom to run cold water on her hand, which was still throbbing with pain. When she got there, Moira caught a look at her new, choppy hair in the mirror and stared at it with shock. Her hair. Her beautiful, long, hair was gone. She stared at her reflection for a long time, as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She hated Jack Kelly. And this time, she meant it. 


	5. A Personal Attack

Disclaimers: Da usual. GOD! Everyone's reviews have kicked major butt! Thank you so much, Plaid Pajamas, Chocolate, Cici, Ally, Hope, and of course, my best buddy ever. Marshy. I love the reviews and all the great feedback! 

****

Chapter Five 

_September 7, 1899_

Dear Diary,

HE CUT MY HAIR! That crazy, stupid, obnoxious, unimaginable bastard (pardon my French) Jack Kelly cut my hair! Now, he claims it was only supposed to be an inch or so, but then Boots was distracted and he cut off too much. Far too much. But honestly, what kind of a person would willingly cut someone else's hair without their permission for fun? I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! If he fell off of the earth right now and perished into the abyss, I would laugh. I really would. So, now to add to the list of things unappealing in New York, I look like I'm recovering from the fever. Wonderful! 

Moira 

By the middle of October, things were not so great in the LH. It was getting colder, so the boys were coming back cold, broke, and frustrated, while the tension between Moira and Jack grew to such a pitch that it was became almost silent whenever they were in the same room. On top of that, Moira had finished all of her books and took to spending her days staring out the window with her head on her hand- bored completely out of her mind.

Her grandfather drank his coffee with her every morning, and they had pleasant conversation before he left to run his daily errands. On one such occasion, Kloppman smiled at her and took a bite of one of the muffins she'd brought. 

"Oh, dis is good. Where did you get dese?" He asked, marveling at the pastry. Moira laughed.

"At the bakery down the street. If you like them that much, I'll get some more tomorrow." 

"I like 'em. I like 'em a lot." He leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. You know, I just love having you here." He told her, making her smile. 

"Well, I like being here." 

"I was talking to your mother the other day." Moira rolled her eyes.

"Oh, and what did she say?" 

"Something about you turning down an engagement?" 

Moira sighed. "Oh Lord, not that again."

"What happened?"

"I didn't want to get married. I would've had to give up school and teaching. I wasn't ready to do that yet." She sighed. "And of course, Mother thinks I'm being a selfish brat, and maybe I am, but I don't care."

"I see. Mind if I ask who the lucky man was?"

"Jonathan Monahan." 

"Irish, I see."

"Yes, he is. And he's also rich, and stuffy, and terribly boring. Oh, he's just not for me."

"So, you don't like this man?"

"Not enough to marry him." Moira took another bite of her muffin and shook her head.

"But you told Cowboy…"

"Yes, I only told him that because I've learned that if you tell Jack what he wants to hear, usually, he goes away." She stopped and thought for a second. "Wait…how did you know what I told Jack?"

"Ah, ah ah. I have my magic ways." Kloppman winked at her and laughed. It was only a few seconds before his granddaughter joined him. "Well, as long as you're happy, darling. That's the most important thing." Moira smiled, she didn't have anything to say to that.

"Oh, I'm bored. And I have nothing to do!" Moira sang, making up her own little song, as she began rearranging papers on the desk. "Bored, bored, bored!" She sat back down and looked at the desk, where a pile of blank paper sat. Next to it was a pencil. She took a piece of paper and looked for a long time at the window. Outside, a little boy was walking with his mother, tugging at her hand. Moira smiled, and looked at the paper. Then at the little boy. Then at the pencil, and began to sketch the child. She didn't want to draw his mother; just the little boy, so she only drew his hand attached to an arm, and drew the windowpane around him. When she was finished, she smiled. He was long gone, but the picture hadn't turned out too bad.

"Hey, Moira. What are you doing?" Les asked, entering the lodging house. 

"Just sitting here. Watching life pass me by." She told the little boy. He came around the desk. "Here, I have something for you." Moira told him, reaching into her purse, where she pulled out a bag of penny candy.

"For me?" Les asked, excitedly. She nodded and he hugged her. "Thanks, Moira. Have you seen Cowboy?" 

"No. Nor do I care to." Les thought for a minute.

"You haven't seen him at all? All day?" He asked. Moira sighed and let down her hair, which had only grown about an inch in a month and a half.

"Do you see my hair? I'm avoiding him, _this_ is why." She pulled at the bottoms. Les jumped back.

"Sorry, Moira."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you. It's not your fault he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He just wants you to loosen up a bit." 

"Right." Moira rolled her eyes. Les shrugged again and looked at the drawing she'd done earlier. 

"Hey, that's pretty good." He commented. She turned and glanced at the piece of paper.

"Here, it's yours." She told him, handing it over.

"Thanks. Aren't you going to sign it?" Moira picked up the pencil and scribbled her initials and the year in the bottom corner. "That's really good." He looked at the clock, which read just a little past five. "Uh oh, I was supposed to meet David at the square at five." 

"Wait a minute, I'll walk you." Moira got up and shrugged into her coat. His shoulders sagged. "No complaining, it's getting darker and if anything ever happened to you I'd never forgive myself." She pushed open the door, almost running into Snipeshooter and Bumlets- the newsies were returning to the fold as they did every night like clock work. 

When they got to the square, they found David waiting impatiently, hands in his pockets, bouncing up and down on his toes. As he saw them coming, he rushed over and met them, grabbing Les's arm.

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick!" 

"Calm down, David. I insisted on walking him, it's my fault he's late." He looked up, noticing Moira for the first time. 

"Oh, sorry, Moira. I didn't realize it was you."

"Obviously." She laughed. 

"Well, my parents are waiting dinner for us, do you want to come?" David offered,

"I would love to, but unfortunately, I promised my mother I would eat dinner with her tonight because she said she had some very important news to tell me about. I can only imagine." 

"All right. Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her a quick hug before taking off hurriedly in the opposite direction, with Les dragging along beside him. Moira laughed, then turned around, and walked slowly back to the lodging house. 

Upon returning to the LH, she found the number of newsies had multiplied greatly since she had left five minutes ago. She fought her way through to the office, where she found, much to her dismay, Jack, leaning over the desk.

"What do you want?" 

"Now, is dat anyway to talk ta me? Couldn't ya be just a liddle bit more polite? Hows about 'Good evenin' Mr. Kelly. How was your day?' You could try somet'in like dat."

"What do you want, Kelly?"

"I was told I gots mail taday. Wanna give it to me?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Moira made a face at the thought of 'giving' Jack anything, but turned around and fished his letter out of the mail cubbies. He snatched it, tore it open, and began to read.

"Can't you do that elsewhere?" She asked. Everything about Jack annoyed her, even the way he breathed. 

"Can I ask you a question, Moira?"

"I doubt I should even bother saying no."

"Why do ya hate me so much?"

"Why? That's so broad of a topic, I don't even know where to begin. You're a selfish, brainless, rude, disgusting pig who lives in total disregard for anyone else's feelings or thoughts. I have a whole list made out somewhere, would you like me to continue?" It had gone completely silent.

"Ya know what, Moira? I would radda be all dos T'ings t'ousand times ova before I was a spoiled liddle brat like you. I mean, when was da last time you actually enjoyed yaself? Or a had a liddle fun? You'se so worried about wad people t'ink about you, you forgotten how ta live? I know how ta live, Moira. Maybe someday you will too. Until dat day-" Jack was cut off as Kloppman entered the room, looking very angry.

"What is going on in here?" He demanded. Moira put her head down.

"Nothing, Grandpa."

"Don't you lie to me, girl. What's going on?"

"We just got outta hand, Klopp. Won't happen again." Jack explained quietly. 

"You're damn right it won't happen again. I want this nonsense stopped one and for all. Do you understand?" He asked, raising his voice. "Dis is my home, and I refuse to let you two taint the air around it. I've told you a million times, Moira, stay away from him if you can't get along! And Cowboy, I don't want you to bother my granddaughter any more. If you're going to behave like children, I'll have to instruct you like children. If you can't say something nice to each other, don't say anything at all. Is that understood?" Silence hung in the air as both Jack and Moira nodded their heads. "Now, Moira, go on home. Your mother is waiting for you." He turned away from them in disgust and went to go back into his own room. 

When he got to the doorframe, however, he began to cough roughly. Moira turned around,

"Grandpa? Are you all right?" She asked, concerned. He continued to cough, not hearing her. Each cough sounded progressively worse, until it sounded as though he would cough up one of his lungs. She made a move towards him, but he waved her away, trying to tell her that he was fine, but still continued to cough. Suddenly, the old man's face became stark white and he grabbed his chest in pain. "Grandpa?" She cried in a panic. "Oh, God. Someone call the doctor!" Moira cried, but it was too late, as Kloppman coughed once more and collapsed onto the ground. 


	6. Smiling With Angels

Disclaimers: Usual. Again, thanks for the reviews, it means so much to know that people actually enjoy something that I wrote. 

****

Chapter 6

Without wasting barely any time, Jack and Blink were able to scoop Kloppman up and bring him swiftly into his own room, where they laid his on the bed. "Race, call da doctah." Jack ordered, feeling the old man's neck for a pulse. He looked at Moira. "He's still alive. But…" He trailed off and looked at the ground. Blink picked up a crocheted afghan from the chair in the corner and placed it on top of him, covering him up to his shoulders. Moira sat down on his left side and held his hand, while Jack did the same on the other. 

"Grandpa?" She whispered, "can you hear me?" 

"Kloppman. Klopp, wake up." Jack said, leaning in closer than Moira had. Kloppman stirred, and then opened his eyes, taking a ragged breath. Jack smiled. "Hey, Klopp."

"Hey dere, Cowboy." The old man said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at Moira, who had tears streaming silently down her face. "Oh, don't waste dose tears on me, darlin'." He put his hand on her cheek, and shakily wiped one of the tears away. "I love you, Moira."

"I love you too." She choked out. "Grandpa, please, don't go." He only shook his head,

"I'm gonna see Wendy again." Wendy was Moira's grandmother, who had died when she was only a few years old. 

"You tell her we said hi." Blink told him, from the foot of the bed. 

Kloppman took Jack's hand and placed it, palm up, on his chest. He then took Moira's hand, placed it Jack's and closed the cowboy's fingers around hers. The dying man then rested his own hands at his sides, a small smile on his face. Moira stared at her hand, joined with Jack's as neither made a movement. They watched together as their hands rose up and down with each of Kloppman's shallow breaths, until finally, they just stopped all together. It took Moira a few minutes to realize what had happened. She pulled her hand quickly from Jack's and began shaking the old man, tears streaming , yelling and screaming incoherently, begging him to 'wake up' and be all right. 

Kid Blink took her quickly in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder as Jack covered Kloppman's face with the cover. She stopped screaming, and just continued sobbing. Kloppman was gone. Her grandfather, Francis Kloppman, was gone. Just like that. She'd had breakfast with him that very morning. They'd talked about muffins. _Muffins. _It seemed odd to her how something so insignificant could become something as important as one of the last conversations she would have with her grandfather.

"Here, give her ta me." She heard Jack say to Blink, who handed her over. He wrapped his arms around her in a brotherly sort of hug, suddenly, her hatred toward Jack became childish and silly, he wasn't her enemy, but her lifeline. Someone who had known and loved Kloppman just as much as she had, if not more. Moira clung to him, like one who was lost at sea would cling to a buoy. 

The next hour was a blur. Moira sat in the common room with the other newsies. Some were crying and trying to hide it, but no one cared at that point. Kathryn was on the other side of the room, staring straight ahead, not looking at anything. Moira wanted more than anything to run over, hug her mother, and tell her that everything would be all right. But she couldn't. So she didn't. Instead, she sat on one of the old couches, in between Racetrack and Mush, looking at the ground.

The doctor walked in, roughly an hour and a half after Kloppman had died. He claimed it was because he was held up at his office, but everyone knew it was because the LH was poor, and had been at the bottom of his priority list. He couldn't do much but he pronounced Francis James Kloppman officially dead and then asked to speak to his next of kin. Moira glanced at her mother, who had barely heard him, and stood up.

"That would be me." She said, wiped under her eyes. The doctor nodded and led her into the office. 

"First of all, let me say I'm terribly sorry to hear about Mr. Kloppman."

"Yes, so am I."

"Surely you've been preparing yourself for this for awhile now. After all, he's been sick for almost…two years now." 

"Excuse me?" Moira asked, shocked. Two years?

"He'd gotten worse lately, started coming to see me almost everyday. I told him to relax, take things easy. But no, he had the boys, and the house, and his family to take care of." The doctor continued to check off a list, (which by the standards of modern medicine would equal out to heart disease,) but Moira wasn't paying attention. Her grandfather had been sick for two years. How had she never known? He didn't just run errands everyday, he had been sneaking off to see the doctor. She felt tears come to her eyes. He'd needed rest and relaxation, but instead, she'd moved in and just given him one more thing to worry about. She focused back in on the doctor as he was talking about funeral preparations. "Now, if you're looking, I know that Frank had a friend, a preacher at that church he used to go to, I would put money on the fact that he'd given him a proper funeral. For free, no doubt." Moira nodded and thanked him before he left. 

She leaned against the nearest wall and slid down it. Putting her head in her hands, Moira took a deep breath and once again began to sob bitterly. 

***

The doctor had been right- and the funeral cost the newsies hardly anything. It was small, of course, with just the newsboys, the Jacobs, Moira and her mother, and a few of Kloppman's other friends. Once the prayers had been said, and The Good Book read from, the preacher asked Jack to come up and say a few words about the deceased. 

He stood at the podium, pushing his hair out of his eyes nervously. "Uh, I ain't too good at t'ings like dis, but I'se gonna try me best. I, uh, I remember da foist night after I gots outta da Refuge, and Klopp gave me a place to live. He just sorta…took my hand and showed me where ta go. He nevah hounded me for me mont'ly rent when I didn't have it, nevah got on my back about stuff he knew he couldn't change about me." There was a long pause as Jack struggled to think of something else to say. "I guess what I'se tryin' ta say is dat Kloppman…he was a good guy. A real good guy. And ya don't find too many good guys anymore. But maybe, I was thinkin,' dat maybe because we'se all knew Klopp, we might be good guys too. And somet'in else dat's been sorta chewin' on my mind, is dat…I nevah got to thank Klopp for everyt'ing he gave me. He gave me a home, and a family, and a job, maybe even a future. So," Jack paused and looked up at the ceiling, "thanks, Klopp. Thanks a lot." 

***

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, or out, or whatever it was that they were planning to do, Jack climbed the stairs that led out to the roof. As he opened the little door and stepped out, he noticed Moira, sitting on the very edge. Immediately seized with panic, He ran over to her, staying a few feet back, just in case she did something drastic. 

"Whatever it is-it ain't woith it, Moira." He said. That sounded good. She turned around and looked at him, confused.

"I'm just sitting here." She told him, swinging her feet back and forth, hitting them against the brick of the building. 

"Oh, okay. Sorry." He went to go back inside.

"You can stay out here, if you want." 

Jack turned around again and sat down next to her on the edge. They were silent for a few minutes, before Moira broke it. "Is this how it feels, to have no one in the world?" She asked, looking down at the street.

"What are ya talkin' about? You gots people? You gots ya mudda, at least." 

"Yes, my mother." She said, in a tone that Jack couldn't quite detect. More silence.

"Ya know, Moira. I been t'inkin'." 

"What about?"

"I t'ink, dat if you really t'ought about it, I bet Klopp just wanted up to be friends." She thought about this for a minute.

"I think you might be right." More silence, only the sound of their heels, bouncing off of the building. 

"So…what do you say we try dat."

"What?"

"Bein' friends." Jack looked at her, giving her a small smile. "For Klopp." She smiled back.

"For Klopp." They shook hands on it. Neither made a move to go back inside as Moira looked up at the stars, where she knew that somewhere up there, her grandfather was looking at the two of them and smiling. 


	7. Guess The Newsies

Disclaimers: You know the drill. Don't own it. Want it, but don't own it. C'est la vie! I GOT 20 REVIEWS!! YAYA! *Does the happy Snoopy review dance* And, I'm done. On with the story…

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Chapter Seven

Delaney, holding the diary in one hand, and unwrapping knickknacks in the other. This diary, though engrossing, was starting to depress her. The more she read, the more she felt sorry for Moira. The entries for the rest of October were filled with boredom, loneliness, and angst, as Moira appeared to have slipped into a mini-depression with the death of her grandfather. It was heart breaking to read the girl's thoughts and feelings about wanting to be whole again. She described her loneliness as a hole inside of her that desperately needed to be filled:

_…If you held my heart to your ear, you would probably hear the ocean- for there is nothing there. Work is a joke. I do nothing but sit and stare all day. I've taken to drawing pictures of people I see on the street through my window. New York has fascinating people. David likes my drawings, of course, I keep giving them to Les, because I don't want them around, but David told me that they're very good for someone who has never had proper training. However, if there isn't anyone on the street, I simply can't draw. I find it impossible to delve back into my mind and draw something from my imagination. For example, I actually attempted a picture of Grandpa, but it didn't turn out right, and I couldn't bear to try again…. _

There was more, but Delaney put down the book and finished the little display of valuable junk that she collected. One thing was certain, the answers to her questions about the trunk were all in that diary somewhere. It hadn't taken long at all to find out about the hair. It felt kind of weird (actually it felt slightly morbid) for her to be holding the brown lock in her hand as she read about why it was in the box in the first place. Delaney had returned the lone curl to it's box and now, the remaining items of the little box were spread out on the bed. 

She looked around the room. It was two-thirty, and, in her eyes, she'd gotten a lot done. Keaton was downstairs, working on the kitchen, so she knew she wouldn't be disturbed if she took a little break. She sat on the bed, folded her legs underneath her, and picked up one of the sketchbooks. With help from Moira's descriptions in the diary, Del was able to slowly match faces with names as she flipped through the pages.

"That's Les, and Dutchy." She murmured, tapping their faces with her fingertip. "Racetrack, Blink, Boots…Mush." She turned the page and came across a picture of the boy Moira had drawn so many times throughout her art career. In this one, he was sitting on the edge of a rooftop, feet dangling off the edge, smoking a cigarette and looking up the sky. While she'd been reading the diary, Delaney had been placing this boy to be David. And it made sense, with all the mention she had made of him, the sketchbook was surely filled with more of the same thing. But she recalled that in one of the entries from September, Moira had said that David didn't smoke, and this boy in the picture obviously did. In fact, he was smoking in quite a few of drawings, so it couldn't be David. But then…Delaney smiled as realization hit her. "Jack." She said aloud, tapping the picture. "This one has to be Jack." 

With that in mind, she flipped through page after page of drawings, counting the ones where Jack was featured, either solo or with a few other people. The number was beyond ten, so Delaney (never being much of a math wiz) began keeping a tally on one of the empty cardboard boxes. By the time the sketchbook ran out of paper, Moira had drawn Jack Kelly, no more than thirty-six times! Thirty-six out of fifty pieces of paper! So what had happened? She was getting conflicting stories from the diary and the sketchbooks. 

"Hey, what are you doing?" Keaton asked, coming into the room, out of breath from running up the stairs. 

"Unpacking." She lied, closing the sketchbook. Her husband raised an eyebrow. 

"Is that right? I'm not seeing that much done." This made Delaney sigh as she motioned to the dresser.

"Knick-knacks! Do you see them? They're lovely!" Keaton laughed at his wife's antics and kissed her,

"They are lovely. But seriously, Del, what else have you done?" He asked. She sighed and got to her feet, dragging him over to the dresser, where she pulled open the top drawer.

"Look, I'm organizing by order of how they go on your body, ya know?" He looked a little confused. "Socks and underwear up top." She closed that one and pulled out the next one, "tank tops and tee shirts on one side, sweaters on the other." Del closed the middle and yanked on the last one, "and pants are down here. But notice, if you will, that the lighter fabrics, denim and khakis are on the right side, while the heavier knits, corduroys and such, are over here on the left." She had used her row of drawers as an example, but assured her husband that his was set up the same way. He laughed.

"You amaze me sometimes."

"Ha! You mean I amaze you all the time." She smiled at him, proud of her work. He smiled back.

"So, really, Del, about the rest of this room…." He looked around and raised his eyebrows. She followed his gaze at the numerous cardboard boxes and things strewn everywhere. 

"I'm going for organized clutter."

"Right. Come on, Slugger, I'll help you." 

The couple spent the next hour and a half unpacking, organizing, and cleaning their new master bedroom while they listened to the Eagles greatest hits. Halfway through 'Take It To The Limit,' Delaney laid down on the bed, closed her eyes, and continued lip-synching the words, hoping her husband would get the point, stop cleaning, and come over and kiss her. He didn't. She sat up, grabbed the sketchbooks and went back to playing her little game of 'guess the newsies.' Keaton turned around to see her bent over the books, chewing on her lips, like she always did when she was thinking. 

"What're you looking at now?" He asked, sitting down next to her. She pointed to a picture. 

"That's Crutchy."

"Crunchy?" 

"No, Crutchy. Notice the crutch." Delaney rolled her eyes and turned the page.

"Who's that?"

"That would be Jack. And the guy he's talking to, that's David. As of right now, David is Moira's best friend."

"Wait- wait. What are you talking about?"

"The diary, my dear husband, the diary." Keaton rolled his eyes. 

"Not this again, Del."

"Yes, this again. You make it sound like a disease. It's fascinating! The poor girl, weird mother, dead grandfather, but luckily, her and Jack have come to a truce. I'm happy for them." All of this information was met with a completely blank stare.

"That means absolutely nothing to me, Del. You do know that, right?"

"But it should! Don't you get it? She lived in our house, Keaton! She probably slept in this room! We wouldn't know that if it weren't for that basement, and we get to have a look into what her life was like. You never know, I might uncover some kind of secret of the univer-"

"STOP! I get it!" Keaton cut her off. "Fine, read away." He motioned to the diary. She gave him a confused look, and turned her eyes back to the book. "Out loud, Del."

"Are you serious?" 

"Well, if you're going to discover the secrets of the universe, I want to be a part of it." She laughed and shrugged as he pulled himself behind her, so she could lean against him. 

"Well in that case…" Delaney opened the diary to early November, took a deep breath, and began to read, out loud, to her husband. 


	8. Just Like One Of Them

Disclaimers: You all know what I'm going to say, but for fear of a lawsuit, I feel the need to be repetitive. Don't own the newsies, just Moira, and the plot. Also, thank you soooo much for the crazy-awesome reviews you've all been doing. GRACIAS!

****

Chapter Eight

Moira sat in the office, apathetically sketching the mail cubbies on the back wall of the office. They weren't hard to draw, mail cubbies weren't, just rows and column of little boxes, but it was something to do. She drew little envelopes in the shadowy holes, and then moved on to the surrounding items on the desk. She drew the books stacked up next to the mail slots, the files that she was in the hopeless process of organizing. Kloppman had kept a file for every single newsie that had ever worked for him. Moira had just discovered his drawer full of them, and had taken it upon herself to sort though them. 

"Hey, what's dat?" Jack asked from behind her. Moira tucked the paper under the sign-in book.

"Nothing." She fibbed, not caring to her mediocre drawings with anyone who wasn't David or Les.

"No, I saw ya doin' sumpin. What was you doin?"

"I was just sitting."

"No you wasn't. C'mon, show me." He prodded, leaning further over the desk. Sighing, Moira pulled out the drawing and handed it to him. He raised an eyebrow, "You're drawing da mail slot?" He asked, slightly confused. 

"There were hardly any people worth drawing." She explained, pointing to the window, where the wind was howling and there were newspapers, dust, and small children everywhere. 

"I didn't know you was a artist." Jack said, after a few moments of contemplation. 

"I'm not."

"Well, ya draw stuff, doncha."

"I can only draw what's in front of me. Real artists can draw just by using their imagination."

"Says who?"

"I don't know. I just know that I'm not an artist." Jack thought about this for a minute.

"Come wid me."

"Why?" 

"Cause we're friends now, remembah? Dat's what friends do. Dey go places togethah." He reminder her, sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

"Where are we going?" 

"You'll see." He pulled her to her feet.

"Why can't you just tell me?" 

"It'll ruin de element of surprise." 

"Please, Jack, just tell me."

"If I were Davey, would ya be askin' all dese questions?" He asked, glaring at her. She thought about it for a minute.

"No, I guess not."

"Den come on." It took a minute for Moira to put her coat on, wrap her scarf around her neck, and pull on her gloves, but she managed to be ready before Jack's patience ran out. 

"What about the office?" She asked, as he hurried her along the windy streets of New York. 

"It'll be fine. What was you doin dat was so important before I came back?" 

"Well, you never know. Something might come up, and what if I'm not there to ward off disaster?" She asked, eyebrows raised. Jack gave her a cynical look.

"When was da last time dere was a disaster at da LH?" They both fell silent, thinking about Kloppman. It was obvious everyone considered _that_ a disaster. They turned a corner and Jack ducked suddenly into an alley, dragging a confused Moira along with him. 

"What are we doing?" She hissed as he crouched low to the ground and pushed open a window.

"Follow me." He slid through the open window and landed on his feet, looking up at Moira, he beckoned for her to follow.

"Why? I don't like the way this looks."

"C'mon."

"I'm going to fall!"

"I'll catch ya, I promise. Besides, it ain't far. Just…close your eyes or sumpin." Jack ventured, holding his arms out to her like one would to a child. She chewed her lip in thought for a minute before deciding to 'live a little' and gathered her skirts around her. She stuck her feet though first, like she'd seen Jack do, and slowly slid the rest of her body through the opening. Jack grasped her waist, making her giggle, and guided her the rest of the way down, so that she landed on her feet, unharmed. "See? Dat wadn't so bad." He scoffed, receiving a glare from the young lady.

"Fine, fine. Are you going to tell me where we are?" She asked, noticing that they were in a rather dark and scary room, where large, shadowy objects jutted out of the darkness at them. 

"You'll see. We gotta be quiet though." He warned, leading her through the room and up some marble stairs. There was a door at the top of the steps, which Jack opened just slightly, looked around before leading her through that as well. 

"Hey! Excuse me sir, you can't be in here, we're just about to close." A guard dressed in dark blue told them, making his way over. His expression changed, however, when he came closer and realized who Jack was. "Kelly? Is that really you?"

"No, stupid. You'se just seein' t'ings. Of course it's me- in da flesh." The two men looked at each other a moment longer before embracing like brothers. 

"So, who's this?" The guard asked, pointing to Moira. 

"Oh, dis is Moira. She's Kloppman-you remembah Kloppman?" 

"Of course I remember him. I'm sorry, by the way. I heard about what happened." Jack nodded solemnly before continuing.

"Anyway, dis is his granddaughtah, Moira Bailey." Moira extended her hand politely and greeted the guard with a timid 'how do you do.' She gave Jack a confused look, as to where she was, why she was there, and who this awfully large man was that was talking to Jack. "Oh, Moira, dis is an old friend 'a mine, Brian Morgan. We used ta be bunkmates at da LH, Brian's like me oldah brudda."

"So what are ya doin' here, Kelly?" Brian implored.

"I gots a point ta prove to da young lady here. You won't tell nobody if we snoop around a bit, would ya?" Jack asked, in such a way that even Moira knew Brian wouldn't say no.

"Go ahead, just be careful. And leave the same way you came in." With that, the man left them, and Jack turned to Moira.

"Close your eyes." He instructed.

"Why?"

"Honestly, woman. Don't you trust me at all?" 

"Well, no, not really. Given your record." She informed him, after a second.

"Just do it. Please?" She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be pulled through the building quickly by Jack Kelly.

"Won't you at least tell me where we are?" She asked, growing tired of the silence and mystery. Moira was not one for surprises. 

"We're at da Met." He told her. "No! Don't open your eyes. We'se almost dere." Jack warned, as Moira felt herself be pulled around a corner. He stopped suddenly. "Here. Open your eyes." 

She did and had her breath taken away. In front of her was a wall full of absolute beauty. Paintings of everyday New York life. She was amazed. "Oh my." She breathed, unsure of what to say. Though astounded, Moira couldn't help but be a bit confused. "What are we doing here, Jack?" She asked, after a few minutes of silence. Jack had to think for a second.

"Well, look at dese paintings. In all of dem, I bet in da whole museum, most of dese artists just painted what dey saw."

"All right…?" She was still confused. 

"Doncha get it? Just because you can't draw from your imagination don't make ya any less of a artist dan what you'se seein' right here."

"Jack, I draw mail boxes."

"Yeah, I know. But dat's not all you draw. Les shows me dose pictures you make him all da time."

"I thought you said you didn't know I drew."

"Eh, I know lotsa t'ings you t'ink I don't." He smiled devilishly. Moira looked around again. Once she understood what he was trying to tell her, she was deeply touched. Going over to one of the painting, she held her hand just centimeters away from the canvas, it was beautiful, of a woman in a hammock, surrounded by clothing strewn about the yard, and a man. If she had known anything about art, Moira would have known that it was _The Open Air Breakfast _by Chase. 

"How did you know about this place?" She asked, suspiciously.

"'Ey, Moira. I'm not da culturally ignorant pig dat you take me for, ya know." He defended himself. Moira laughed and looked at her watch.

"I should go." 

"I should walk you. Don't want your mudda gettin' hyped up ovah nuttin." Jack led the way back through the museum and the basement, boosted her out the window before climbing out the small opening himself. 

They hurried through the city, quicker than they had come, and Jack managed to have Moira at her door just before six-o-clock. 

"Well, thank you, Jack. That was lovely." She told him, wrapping her coat tighter around her. 

"Eh, no problem. We're friends- dat's what friends do." He patted her shoulder before jogging back across the street. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and half ran up the stairs to the apartment, where her mother was waiting.

Moira heard none of the things that Kathryn said while they ate. She cleaned her dishes and went back to her room, where she put on a warm nightgown and crawled into bed, thinking about what Jack had said. An artist, he had called her. She smiled at the thought of it. An artist, she'd never even considered it. 

***

October faded quickly into November, which brought more cold air, higher winds, and more miserable newsies home to the lodging house each night. Apparently, no one wanted to buy newspapers unless they were being sold inside a nice, warm building. And selling inside was a risky business, because if the cops found you, you had a choice of a hefty fine, or a few nights in jail. This didn't go over well with the newsies. 

On a more depressing front, Thanksgiving was coming. Normally, Moira didn't mind this holiday, but this year, she knew, it would simply be miserable. It was, after all, her first Thanksgiving without her grandfather and only the second one she had spent without her father. 

Thinking about spending holidays alone made Moira very sad. Oddly, these thoughts occupied most of her mind, thus making her sad for a good portion of the day. One of the few bright spots was David, who was constantly doing things to try to cheer her up. 

"That's nice." He complimented, one morning, on a sketch she was doing of an old woman outside. 

"Thanks." She answered in a monotone, not looking up.

"Come on, Moira. What's wrong with you lately?" David asked, coming around to her side of the desk and pulling up a chair. She added a few finishing details and put the pencil down.

"I don't know. I just wish the whole holiday season would hurry up and be done with."

"Is this about your grandfather?"

"It's about him, and my father, and my mother, and the fact that I have no one to spend holidays with and it is making me absolutely miserable!" She exclaimed. It actually felt good to let her feelings out. David thought for a few minutes.

"Have Thanksgiving dinner with my family." He offered.

"David, you can't just invite people to eat with your family all the time. I've only met your parents that one time." 

"They would like you, I'm sure." Moira laughed.

"I don't think so. Thank you, but I don't think that would help." 

"Why not?"

"Isn't Jack going to be there?"

"Well, yeah. But I thought the two of you were getting along better these days."

"We are, we are. I just don't think it would work out. So, thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline." David gave her a sad smile.

"The door's always open." He reminded, standing up. She smiled at him,

"You're very sweet, David Jacobs. Very sweet." David smiled again and went back into the cold to finish his stack of papes. Leaving Moira to her own, rather confusing thoughts.

"Moira Elizabeth Bailey, you are coming with me and that is final!" Kathryn exclaimed, Thanksgiving evening, glaring at her daughter from across the room. 

"No, I'm not, and _that _is final!" Moira yelled back. "Besides," she added haughtily, "I'm not properly dressed." 

"We can change that, Moira dear. I know the perfect thing you could wear. In fact, if you'll stop being such an infant about this whole thing, you can go and put it on right now and we'll still be able to pass for fashionably late." 

"I'm sorry, Mother, but you'll just have to go without me. I'm not in the mood for false conversation and petty gossip tonight. You have my apologies."

"But what am I going to tell the Beckman's?" Kathryn asked, exasperated.

"Tell them that I'm in a hospital for the criminally insane. Tell them that I ran away with a newsboy, tell them whatever you like just as long as you understand that I'm not going!"

"Moira, dear, I don't understand you. Theresa Beckman has been a dear friend of mine since we were little girls, and she's invited us to her house for Thanksgiving dinner. How would it look if I went without you?" Kathryn asked, trying a more gentle approach. 

"Once again, I'm sorry. But I don't feel well, I've got a bit of a headache, and I don't think that going out would improve my condition at all." This was almost true. Moira had not had the headache when she'd returned from work that day. It was brought on by the argument that had been going on for the last fifteen minutes. Kathryn threw up her hands.

"Fine! Stay home and wallow in your depression. I'm going and getting on with my life." She snapped, sweeping out of the apartment and slamming the door behind her. Moira sighed, and began to straighten up what little mess there was in the apartment. She made herself some hot chocolate, gathered her legs around her and sat down on the sofa with _A Mid Summer Night's Dream_, one of her favorite plays. As she got comfortable, Moira glanced around the empty room,

"Happy Thanksgiving." She muttered, raising her cup in a pseudo-cheers motion. Sighing, she opened her book, skimmed the first few pages and read Helena's first monologue, following her exchange with Hermia. She smiled, remembering how her father had changed his voice and acted out some of Shakespeare's comedies. Helena had always been her favorite, though, out of all of the play he had read to her. 

By the time the clock chimed seven, Moira had gotten to the first argument between Oberon and Titania. (She would have gotten further, but she kept going back and re-reading certain parts.) Just as she turned the page, there was a knock at the door. 

Wondering who it could be, she got to her feet and pulled open the door. Much to her surprise, Mush, Kid Blink, Skittery, and Boots stood in front of her. "Hello, boys." She greeted, uncertainly. 

"Hiya, Moira." Kid Blink began, sounding out of breath. "You gotta come wid us." 

"What's wrong?" She asked. "Is something the matter?"

"You just gotta see for yourself. C'mon. Get ya coat, ya gotta hurry." Mush panted, motioning with his hands. Not wasting any time, Moira grabbed her coat and shut the door behind her, following the four boys down the stairs and across the street to the lodging house. It was deathly quiet when they got there, Moira felt herself seized with panic, expecting the worst as the boys led her into the back dining room where-

"HAPPY THANKSGIVING!" A chorus of over fourty voices called, turning the lights up to reveal their version of a Thanksgiving feast. Her jaw dropped as she took in the food that was set out on the table before her: Stuffing, salads, hot dogs, bread, a bowl of unidentifiable red stuff, and a mulitude of other things. In the center of the table sat a turkey that looked like it had been over cooked for a few extra hours- it was burnt to a crisp- as, Moira noticed, was most of the food. She had to smile.

"We figgered you was gonna be alone, and we t'ought you'd like ta join us." Jack informed, coming forward, smiling. She noticed David in the backround, 

"They had an anonymous tip." He confessed, also making his way to the front of the group, greeting Moira with a hug and a 'Happy Thanksgivng' whispered in her ear. She felt tears coming to her eyes.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." She told them, fanning her flushed face. They all laughed.

"No need ta get soft on us." Crutchy scolded lightly. Without much adeu, they were all seated around the house, Bumlets led them in a blessing, and they dug in. The food was awful, but Moira smiled and said nothing. It was purely the thought that counted. 

As she tried ripping apart her turkey, Jack came and sat down next to her. "Surprised?" He asked, quite pleased with himself.

"Most definitely. I thought you were spending Thanksgiving with the Jacob's?" She wondered aloud, deciding that the only way to atempt to eat the meat was just to gnaw on it. 

"They'se bringin' desert." He told her, smiling as she pulled at the turkey with her teeth and her hands. Finally breaking off a piece, Moira began to contentedly chew. 

"So tell me, Moira, how does this Thanksgiving rank, in comparison to the upper society shindigs you must have attended in the past?" 

"One of the best." Moira decided, after a second of thought, "one of the best." And the newsies seemed satisfied with that. 


	9. Surprising Herself

Disclaimers: Don't own it blah blah blah. You all know the drill by now. HEY! Did you know that my reviewers kick absolute butt? Dija? Well, in case you didn't know…THEY DO! Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback. 

****

Chapter 9

Still smiling as she made her way to her door, Moira inserted her key, turned the latch, and opened the door to her home. Her smile faded quickly, however, as she saw that her mother was not only home, but also waiting up for her with the anger of a grizzly bear woken from hibernation. 

"Where in the world were you?" Kathryn asked with a quiet anger that scared Moira more than any shouting ever would. She opened her mouth to explain, but she was cut off. "Don't even bother. You were with those filthy boys across the street again, weren't you? You spend far too much time over there, Moira Elizabeth, far too much time." 

"I happen to work there." She snapped, not wanting to have her mother ruin the good mood she was in.

"Oh don't make me laugh. You've told me yourself that there is no real work to be done in that dreadful hovel. You do nothing and aren't even paid for it! I am racking my brains, trying to figure out the appeal that job holds for you." 

"I'm not going to argue with you about this. I'm going to bed." She muttered, beginning to walk across the room. Kathryn grabbed her arm.

"No you are not, we're going to discuss this." Moira rolled her eyes. "What has happened to you? You've changed so much since we left Boston." 

"How so?" Her daughter asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Well, for one thing, your punctuality is practically non-existent. You used to be so…quiet. And now you're loud, constantly late for things, out until all hours of the night with those…_newsies, _and perfectly content to spend the rest of your life filing papers for a house full of dirty children!" Kathryn retorted, her voice rising slowly. 

"First of all, Mother, I have been late for exactly two different things since we moved here in August, I am loud when I have to be-as are you, this is the first time I've ever been home this late, and I have no intention of spending the rest of my life as an office girl in the lodging house." Moira returned, heatedly. 

"Make whatever claims you want, but I'd just like to know why in heaven's name you want to spend all of your free time there with those boys?"

"Because they're my _friends _Mother. They're people I enjoy being around. Do you understand that? Those boys, as you refer to them as, are the only people I know who don't judge me by the mistakes I've made or the marriage proposals I've turned down! They care about me enough to-"

"Oh, Moira!" It was Kathryn's turn to roll her eyes in disgust. "Don't you see what's going on? They don't care about you! You're a pretty girl, sent in to amuse them! They keep you around because they like the way you look- they're only ignorant boys, after all, what can you expect?" 

Moira shook her head. "You don't know them." 

"Neither, I can assure you, do you, my dear."

"Listen, Mother, I am not about to stand here and listen to you insult the few people in my life who actually care about me! I'm also not going to just accept the fact that I will remain just a nuisance to you until I marry Jonathan. Which, by the way, Mother, will NEVER HAPPEN! Until you can come up with a logical reason, one that doesn't include what other people will think, or how it would look, for me to stop going to work and discontinue my friendship with the newsies, I have nothing to say to you on this subject! Now, if you'd like to calmly discuss something else, I'll be more than ready to listen to what you have to say. But since I doubt that will happen, I'm going to bed. GOOD NIGHT!" She screamed the last part into her mother's face, ignoring all lady-like restrictions against yelling, turned on her heel and walked quickly to her room, slamming the door. 

Oddly, she wasn't upset about the argument she'd just had with her mother. Instead of going straight to bed, like she could have, Moira took out her diary and pen, and began to write:

__

November 30, 1899

Dear Diary,

_It is a wonderful feeling when you realize you can still surprise yourself. I just had a horrendous fight with Mother yet I feel oddly indifferent towards anything I have just said. Maybe it's because everything I told her was true, versus her lies, and I know that. Maybe it's because I know that she was wrong when she told me the newsies only like me because of the way I look. People who only liked me for my looks would not have done something as sweet as cook an entire Thanksgiving feast for me when they knew I would be alone on the holiday. That was ever so sweet of those boys, it really was, even if the meal itself consisted of burnt food and day-olds from Tibby's, it's the thought that matters in situations like this. Mother knows nothing of which she speaks, but then again, when has she ever thought before speaking? Has she? I'm not sure…. But on the grand scheme of things, I would have to say that this night ranks as one of the best I've had in awhile. I'm sure that Grandpa would have agreed._

Well, good night. 

Moira. 

Smiling, Moira closed her diary, tucked it into her drawer, changed, and went straight to bed, exhausted with the day's activities. 

***

Delaney paced back and forth in front of Jeff Connors, who was reading over the diary entries. She'd forbidden her best friend and colleague at the museum to read any further than she'd gotten. After what seemed like an eternity, he put the book down.

__

"Interesting, Del, very." He said, after some thought. "But personally, I don't feel any pity towards the girl at all."

__

"What are you talking about? Have you not been reading? All the crap she's had to put up with! And then her grandfather dies. Tell me your eyes didn't moisten at _that _entry. It was heartbreaking." She smacked him lightly on the head. "How can you not pity her?"

__

"First of all, Impatient McEagerpants" Jeff began, shaking his head. Delaney had to laugh at the stupid nicknames he was constantly inventing for her. "I just said I didn't pity _her._ I didn't say some other poor soul in the life of Moira Bailey doesn't have my pity." 

"Really? Who?" She asked, eyebrows raised. 

"I actually feel sorry for this David kid."

"David! Why would you feel bad for David? That's the most random thing I've heard all day!" 

"Allow me to explain: From what you've told me, and from what I've read, we both know what's going on with her and Jack. Yet, there's poor David, who, from the looks of it, has a crush on our gal Moira. And this Jack fellow, he's already taken, yet he's trying to hook up with David's girl!" Jeff was cut off as Delaney whacked the British man again on the back of the head.

"They're just friends, numb nuts! Don't you comprehend anything at all?"

"I wasn't done, you abusive tramp! Stop hitting me. As I was saying, we all know how this story is going to end- it says so itself right on this painting." He pointed to the corned of one of the paintings she'd brought to him, this one was of a blonde child, dated 06'. 

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying David needs ass too!" At this, Delaney burst out laughing, but Jeff kept going. "I'm saying that she's going to end up breaking poor David's heart! And then he's going to fake a smile as she runs off and becomes Mrs. Jack Kelly happily ever after. It's David's story that is just bloody heartbreaking-not Moira's." He slid the diary toward a now glowering Delaney.

"David needs ass too? I give you the diary of a young woman who lived more than a hundred years ago, and you tell me that David needs ass too?" She exclaimed.

"Well, everyone needs ass, Delaney. I was only stating the truth. What are you getting so worked up about? In my opinion, the story's told, we know the ending, quit wasting your time and try to find an actual mystery to dig up, we all know that's what you really live for." Delaney shook her head, picked up the book, and left Jeff's office.

'You think you know everything, don't you." She grimaced to no one, sitting back down in her own office. She opened the diary again and furiously turned the pages, now on a mission to prove not only her husband, but also now Jeff, wrong- that the story wasn't over just yet.

***

"Hi, Moira?" Moira looked up to see the face of Sarah Jacobs peeking into the office. She smiled,

"Hi, Sarah. How are you?" 

"Just fine. I wasn't interrupting you, was I?"

"Oh, no. Come on in." She beckoned the other girl in. "Was there something you needed?" 

"Kind of." Sarah bit her lip. "This is going to sound kind of strange…"

"What is it?" Moira asked, concerned. She liked Sarah; she was a nice girl, smart and, on occasion funny. If anything, she was a girl that Moira could talk to when she tired of trying to carry on a conversation with boys. 

"Well, I'm going away for a few days, to see some girl friends of mine in Pittsburgh. And well…"

"What?"

"See, I've written to them, and I've told them all about Jack. But the thing is, they want to see what he looks like. I don't have any pictures except the ones in the newspapers from the summer, but those aren't very flattering." She paused, as Moira began to wonder where she came into this equation. "Well, Les has the pictures that you draw, you know, of the people outside- well, he's got them hanging up all over the house. And I was wondering…"

'You were wondering if I could draw you a picture of Jack so you can show your friends what he looks like." Moira finished for her. Sarah blushed and looked at her feet.

"Isn't that stupid? Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No! I'll do it." She said suddenly, not wanting to hurt Sarah's feelings.

"You will?" 

"Of course, I'll just stay later tonight and draw him after everyone is done with work." Sarah's face broke into a smile.

"That would be wonderful, thank you Moira."

"Anytime." They smiled at one another as the door opened and Jack swaggered in. 

"Well idn't dis a pleasant surprise. Two 'a my favorite goils in da same room right when I gots ta talk to dem both." The newsies leader said, kissing Sarah lightly before turning to Moira. "And how's my favorite office goil taday?" He asked,

"Perfectly delightful, thank you." 

"What do you need to talk to us about?" Sarah asked, sliding an arm around him in a little hug.

"Just ta let you both know dat we'se all goin' ta see Medda tonight, and to extend an invitation to whoevah would like ta join us. So whaddya say, can I count you two in?"

"I'm in." His girlfriend agreed happily. Moira shrugged,

"Why not. I'll be there." Jack nodded with approval before kissing Sarah once more and went back to his rounds. "Well, I suppose I'll be sketching him at the theatre tonight." Moira told her companion, who shrugged again, grinning. 

The two girls sat in the very back of the top balcony, giggling to themselves as their friends made complete idiots of themselves, whooping and hollering at Medda as she danced around the stage in a frilly pink costume. Occasionally, Moira would lean over far enough to catch a glimpse of Jack, and continued drawing. At some point during the evening, Jack went up on stage and danced with Medda. Sarah stared straight ahead. 

"Something wrong?" Moira asked, noticing her friend's blank expression.

"I think Jack likes Medda more than me." She said at last. Moira glanced at the woman on stage, then at the one sitting next to her. The difference was as vast as an ocean.

"Are you serious?" Sarah nodded, not taking her eyes off of Jack. "Sarah, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"I'm seeing Jack dancing with a beautiful woman that adores him." Moira sighed.

"Listen to me, Sarah. Medda and Jack have a relationship that's based solely on friendship. They love each other, sure, but just as much as you and David love each other. He _loves _you." She emphasized the word love. Sarah looked at her.

"You think?"

"I do. And besides, she's old enough to be his mother, I think he has better taste than that." They both laughed at this and Sarah leaned over to look at the drawing, which was almost finished. 

"Ooh, that's very good." She complimented. "But you made his face thinner." Moira examined the problem that had been pointed out. 

"He looks better this way." The two of them giggled some more, sat back, and decided to just enjoy the show while it lasted. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, so, what was the point of this chapter? I'm not really sure! But, hell, it was fun to write. I also have to give mad props to one of my best friends, Jeff, who inspired me to write the Delaney section for the sole purpose of using the phrase 'David needs ass too.' as he so thoughtfully pointed out to me. I LOVE YOU JEFF! I love everyone! Especially to all my reviews- you guys rock! 32 reviews!! YAYA! And I think I'm done. Any ideas for the next chapter…something has to happen before Christmas- SEND ME YOUR THOUGHTS! 


	10. A Picture of Christmas

Disclaimers: WHOOO HOOO! Double digit chapters baby! Uh huh! That's right- I'm on chapter 10, I didn't make it up, it's real! Okay, I love the world of the reviews…it's a wonderful surprise when I wake up and go to my computer where a happy little envelope is bouncing all over the screen, telling me I've got NEW REVIEWS! *Sigh* Just lovely.

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Chapter Ten 

The snow fell steadily outside the lodging house. Luckily, no one was out in it, trying to sell papers, they were all safely inside, playing cards and just plainly being newsies. _They're not boys- they're newsies._ Kloppman's words came to mind as Moira glanced around the room at the rowdy boys. She surveyed the common room, eyes resting on Kid Blink as he watched the arm wrestling match going on between Mush and Specs. Something about him had been bothering her about him lately.

"Hey, Blink." Moira called to her cycloptic friend. He looked up as she beckoned him to join her on the beaten down sofa.

"What's up?" He asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"

"I guess it wouldn't hoit nuttin'." 

"What happened to your eye?" She asked, pointing to her own eye. Blink smiled without showing his teeth. 

"Dat's a long story, Moira."

"Tell me." She prodded, nudging his shoulder.

"Come wid me." Without another word, Kid Blink stood up, grabbed the ratty blanket off the back of the sofa and started to walk upstairs. "Bring your coat." He called back to her. Scrambling to her feet, Moira grabbed her coat and followed him up to the roof. Once there, he brushed some snow off the ground and put the blanket down. They sat, feet off the sides as usual. 

"So, why are we up here?" Moira asked, curiously.

"I dunno. I just like sittin' up here. It's nice, huh?" 

"It's a little cold." She pulled her jacket tighter. "If you don't want to tell me about your eye, I won't ask anymore."

"When I was five, my fadda woiked in da stables. Takin' care of da horses, ya know? I used ta go wid 'im sometimes. I'd be helpin' 'im, he used ta say. So, one day, he says ta me, he says 'son, go get me a hoof pick, a crop, and a brush.' So I goes into da back room, gets da brush, and da crop, but da hoof picks was hangin' on dis hook way up at da top. I'se only five, remembah, and I couldn't reach it. So, I takes da handle of da crop and tried ta knock it of da hook. Well, I knocked it off, but da pick fell down and caught me right in da eye." Blink finished, sadly, looking down at the street. 

"Oh my God! Really?" Moira asked, horrified at the thought of a five year old losing his eye. He smiled.

"No, not really. I just made dat up. Actually, I used ta wear glasses, right? And before I runs away from home, I gots into a fight wid my old man, and he hit me. Da glasses broke I lost me vision in me right eye." Moira's mouth hung open. She wanted to hug the poor boy.

"Oh my, that's awful."

"Yeah- it ain't true eidah." He confessed smiling and lighting a new cigarette. Moira whacked him on the arm.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Not taday. But maybe someday." 

"She watched with interest as he took a long drag of the cig. "May I try that again?" She ventured bravely. He looked at her with surprise. 

"Are you sure?" She nodded. "Knock ya self out, Princess." Blink handed over the smoking cylinder. Moira put it in her mouth, as she'd seen them all do so many times and inhaled, remembering not to breathe too deeply to avoid a coughing spell like last time. She still coughed deeply again, but Blink encouraged her to take another puff. She did, and the coughing subsided after a few more drags. Smiling, after a few minutes, she handed the cigarette back to Blink, feeling odd relaxed.

"Thanks, I think I needed that." She said, making him smile.

"You're all right, kid." He told her, patting her shoulder. "You're all right." They sat together in silence for a minute before Moira shivered, shaking the snow from her hair and coat. "Why don't ya go back inside?" He suggested.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Nah- I'll be down. I'se just gonna sit for a liddle. But go on, you'se cold. I don't wantcha gettin' sick or nuttin'." Moira shrugged and went downstairs, where she found David sitting on the stairs. 

"Hey." He greeted, as Moira sat down next to him. "Where were you?" 

"Up on the roof." David looked surprised,

"Alone?"

"No, I was talking to Blink." 

"Anything important?" 

"No, not really. Just…things." 

"So, tell me, what does Moira Bailey want for Christmas?" David asked, after a few seconds. She smiled at him, 

"Aside from you shipping my mother to the West Indies, I'm not sure if there's anything I really need."

"Ah, but I didn't ask what you _needed, _I asked what you _wanted_. These are two very different things."

"Hmm, I don't know, David. What do you want?"

"Use your judgment." He answered simply, looking at his pocket watch. "Come on, I'd better get you home." She groaned. "Come on, no complaining. Hey, Les, we're gonna head home." 

"Goodbye boys!" Moira called into the room, getting a chorus of farewells, as Les picked up his coat and followed them out the door with a handful of drawings Moira had done. 

"It's almost Christmas, Moira. Aren't you excited?" Les asked, full of energy, as he and his brother walked her across the street. The snow had let up, just as the sun was going down.

"It's not the same when you get to be my age, kid." She told him, ruffling his hair. Suddenly, she had a thought, "David, when it's snowing like this, no one sells papers, right?"

"That's what I'm assuming. Why?"

"Well, what about when it isn't snowing, but still winter?"

"We sell in the cold, Moira. And most of the boys get sick."

"They do?" She asked, surprised at how concerned she was. 

"Well, most of them don't have coats or gloves or even proper shoes. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering." Moira covered, as the boys left her with hugs at her doorstep. She walked up to the apartment, a few minutes early, formulating a plan. 

Ah, Christmas, truly a magical time. Well, at least, it looked magical. The lights and tinsel decorated and illuminated the city of New York so much that Moira no longer hated doing her errands. It was so much fun to watch people as they bustled past, carrying packages home from the department stores. One Saturday, two weeks before Christmas, Moira ventured into one of these stores and looked around. She'd been in one before, but rarely by herself and hardly ever with a purpose. Today she was a woman on a mission-to get something suitable for the newsies, her mother, David, Les, Sarah, and Jack. She knew what she was getting for the tenants of the lodging house, and some idea of what she was going to get for Sarah, but the men in her life…hmm…now that was a tough one.

"Well, first thing's first." She murmured aloud, heading over to the Men's Department. They didn't have enough of what she needed, and they had to back order it for her. This was probably a good thing, Moira concluded, trying to figure out how she would get them all home. She was given the total, an obscene amount of money, which left her mouth hanging open. "H-how much was that again?" She asked, not sure if she'd heard right.

"Four hundred and seventy dollars miss." The man told her, expectantly waiting while she wrote out a check with a shaking hand. Ripping off, she handed it to him, trying not to feel too guilty. "Will there be anything else?" 

"N-no. Not today." She told him quickly, turning and walking away from the department. _That narrows down the price range a bit_. She thought to herself, and then going to the jewelry section, where she picked out a pretty, but relatively inexpensive necklace for Sarah. On the third floor-Children's-Moira found a board game for Les, which she decided, that if paired with a bag of candy, would certainly be enough for the little boy. After paying, she left the department store, packages in hand, and made her way further into town to browse.

**PARTICULAR PAGES** the sign above the store read. Moira looked up at it for a moment, before deciding that it couldn't hurt to investigate the bookstore. She pushed open the door, a scent of pipe and vanilla greeted her as someone bustled past and out into the cold. Moira took to one of the rows of leather bound and thick volumes of books that lined every shelf and were scattered over any other available surface. "David- what on Earth will I get you?" She asked herself, running a finger over the spines of the books.

"Hello!" A jovial old man crowed, from out of nowhere, scaring the bejesus out of Moira, making her jump a mile into the air. 

"Hello." She breathed, recovering from the surprise. 

"What are you looking for?" He asked as she took in his appearance. He was very short, several inches smaller than she was, portly, white-haired with a mustache to match that he continually twisted to maintain the handlebar shape. 

"Well, I'm looking for a book for a friend of mine." The little man brightened.

"Might this be a _gentleman _friend?" He asked slyly. 

"Yes, actually, it is. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what to get him." 

"Tell me about him, my sweet, and we'll see what we can do." The gentleman took her arm and led her down the rows.

"He's smart, funny, sensitive…" Moira continued listing all of David's good qualities as her personal literature assistant plucked a book off one of the higher shelves, making Moira wonder how he'd reached it- but he had, and handed it to her. She looked at the title. "Yeats- the collective works." She read, the little man nodded happily. 

"Read a bit." He encouraged. 

"_Your eyes that once were never weary of mine  
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,  
Because our love is waning. _Do you think he would like this?" Moira asked, after opening to a random page and reading the first few lines of a poem. The man nodded. She considered for a minute. "How much is this?" 

"Four dollars." 

"I'll take it."

"Good good!" She followed him to the register, where he rang her up, took the cash she offered, and placed the book in the bag. She thanked him again and headed out to find her most difficult gift- something for Jack. 

There were only so many things she could think of before she ran out of ideas. She would have gotten him a book with David's if she thought he would read it. But she had a feeling he wouldn't. 

After searching for an entire two hours, Moira came to the decision that Jack Kelly was impossible to shop for. She went home, dropped off her packages at the empty apartment, then crossed the street to the lodging house, which she found to be bustling and hustling with live- a nice change from the solemnity that was her home. 

She took a seat in the common room, on the sofa, with a piece of blank paper and a pencil, observing, feeling the urge to draw. On the other side of the room, David and Jack were talking about something while Les sat in between them, listening intently. Moira picked up her pencil and began to sketch; letting her hands do the thinking and her mind come up with an idea for what she was going to do for Jack. 

***

On Christmas Eve, the Bailey's were invited to a party- this time; however, Moira was forbidden to call off from it. Kathryn pulled tightly on the corset stays, trying to make Moira's waist look like the girl's in the magazines. Her daughter, scarcely being able to breathe, held on to the doorframe, holding her breath each time the stays were tightened. 

"Okay, Mother, I think that's quite enough." She coughed, not being able to stand it anymore. 

"Very well, I think that's the best I can do." She looked dissatisfied with the appearance of Moira's figure. 

"It'll be fine. If I can't breathe, then I can't eat, right?" Moira asked, dismissively. Her mother had never come out and told Moira that she thought she was fat, but there were little hints dropped all of the time. 

"Correct." Kathryn took the dress her daughter was to wear from off of the hanger. It was stunning, and had been made especially for her. Floor length red taffeta, with a black slip dress over top that stopped just before the bottom, leaving a few inches of fiery red material to be seen. There were tiny black beads sewn all over the dress in a cascading spiral around the bodice and skirt before coming to a thick band that circled the neckline and weaved down the sleeves. Moira stepped into it and waited patiently while her mother did up all fifty-five of the tiny buttons in the back. 

"Mother, don't you think it's a bit low?" She asked, noticing how the neckline scooped down, exposing her cleavage.

"Moira, the designer of this dress is French. I personally think it's too low, but he assured me that this is what everyone is wearing in Europe. You'll look fine." Even with this, Moira tried to pull the dress up just a little in the front. "Stop it, you'll pop off a bead." 

_God forbid. _Moira thought sarcastically as her mother led her to her vanity, and began to do her hair. 

"I will never understand, for the life of my, what possessed you to cut off your beautiful hair." She said, in a bit of a melancholy tone. Moira had told her that she had cut the hair off herself and sold it to a wig maker, and now said nothing as her hair was pinned and twisted into an elegant knot with curls hanging around her face. "Lovely." Moira remained silent as her mother added a bit of powder to her face, a little bit of kohl around the eyes, stained her lips with a red liquid that tasted like raspberries, and touched her cheeks with a dollop of rouge. "Very pretty, my dear."

"Thank you, Mother." Moira stood up, slipped into the black satin shoes that pinched her toes at the top, and made her way into the parlor. Just as she was about to ease her way onto the sofa, there was an abrupt three knocks on the door. Opening it, she saw Jack standing there, looking around with interest. "Oh, hello Jack." She greeted, quietly, hoping her mother wouldn't hear her. He looked at her, mouth hanging slightly open.

"Wow. You look…uh…nice." She blushed.

"Thank you. Was there something you needed?"

"Oh, uh…well…uh…we was all talkin' and we wanted you ta come ova and spend Christmas Eve wid us." Jack invited, making Moira's heart sink. A night with the newsies sounded so much more appealing than what she had to do.

"I would love to. Unfortunately, my mother and I were invited to a Christmas party, I have to go." She admitted, depressed. 

"Moira, who's there?" Kathryn asked, from behind. Moira grimaced and pulled the door open to reveal the caller to her mother. Jack stepped into the apartment and strode over to Kathryn, extended his hand, and introduced himself,

"Hello. I'm Jack Kelly, I woik over at da-"

"I know who you are, Mr. Kelly." Kathryn cut him off quickly. "You worked with my father, he's told me about you. Is there something we can do for you?" Moira loved how her mother used the word 'we' as if her opinion mattered even to people she had never met.

"I just came ova ta invite your lovely daughter ova ta da house for a liddle Christmas Eve bash. But she informs me you've already made plans."

"Yes, we have." There was a moment of silence before Kathryn turned to her daughter, "Moira, I'm going to go finish getting ready." She stopped there, raised an eyebrow and waited for a response.

"I'll just say goodbye and do the same." Moira answered mechanically. Her mother nodded, turned on her heel, and left the room, moments before Moira followed Jack out into the hall to say goodbye. 

"She's piece 'a woik, ain't she?" Jack commented, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Yes, that's one way to describe her." Moira rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall. 

"Where ya goin' again?"

"To a party. Another mindless soiree with shallow conversation and bland food."

"Sounds like fun." 

"Oh yes, a good time to be had by all." She replied dryly, looking to the ceiling, as if for some kind of divine rescue. None came,

"Do you still want me ta put everyone's presents on deir bunks tamorrah?" 

"Yes, I would, if you don't mind." Jack nodded.

"Will do. But, I'se gonna go letcha get goin'. Don't wanna be da one responsible for makin' da Bailey ladies wait." He chuckled for a minute. "You do look really nice, dough. Just so ya know." 

"Why, thank you." Moira smiled. Jack turned to go, but then changed his mind, turned back around, hugged her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Moira." He told her with a wink.

"Merry Christmas, Jack." She smiled, surprised. "I was planning on stopping over tomorrow afternoon, will that be all right?"

"Like we could say no ta you." Jack smiled and shook his head. "We'll be waitin'." He gave her a wave and started down the steps as Moira disappeared back into her home. 

The night passed quickly, as Moira sat at the party with her painted smile and false laughter. She was relieved when she and her mother left the party and attended midnight mass at the Catholic Church a few blocks from their house. The Bailey women took the carriage ride mostly in silence until,

"William Baxter seemed to be rather interested in you." Kathryn commented as they neared home.

"I'm very glad for him."

"I was hoping you might have something positive to say, after all you did dance with him twice."

"The looks you kept shooting at me were frightening, I would have done just about anything to get away from them." Moira explained, in a noticeably bad mood.

"I don't want to fight with you."

"Then let's not fight. It's Christmas Eve, let's just go home." The carriage pulled up in front of the apartment building, and they both got out, walked to their rooms with scarcely another word between them. 

Christmas morning came and went, Moira and her mother exchanged gifts, then had breakfast together as was their tradition. Around noon, Kathryn announced she had people to see, and left with an armful of packages to exchange with her friends. Moira sighed with relief, took a bath, fixed herself up a bit, grabbed the presents she had taken so much care in wrapping herself, and headed over to the LH, where her boys were waiting. 

When she got there, she found Snipeshooter, Mush, Kid Blink, and Specs having a snowball fight on the sidewalk, each wearing a new, heavy coat and a pair of pig skin gloves. They stopped the skirmish of fallen snow when they saw, and ran over to greet her with hugs. 

"I see you all got my presents." She laughed, commenting on their outdoor apparel. She had bought a new coat and gloves for each of them, which was what had lightened her bank account so early on in the month. 

"Thanks, Moira." Specs said, sincerely. The others chorused similar sentiments.

"Not a problem, gentlemen. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" They called as she made her way into the house. 

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, BOYS!" Moira yelled at the top of her lungs, upon entering the house. She was greeted with a variety of thank you's and holiday greetings when she got into the common room. Everyone was quite pleased with their gifts, and randomly came over to hug her or tell her thank you. 

Jack came into the room, looking surprised,

'Well, what do we have here? I didn't t'ink you was comin' till ladah." He gave her a friendly punch in the shoulder. "I guess we'll just hafta give ya your present now, whaddya say boys?" He asked the room, getting sounds of approval. "Hang on." Jack retreated from the room and came back several minutes later with a package sloppily wrapped in newspaper and handed it to her.

She carefully pulled off the paper, exposing a thick book bound in brown leather. 

"Open it." Racetrack prodded. She did, and flipping through the pages realized it was a sketchbook, and from the looks of it, a rather expensive one at that. "Read de inside." Race ordered, opening to the inside cover where there was a message written in David's handwriting:

__

To our future artist,

What do you see? We hope this helps you. 

You always got family here. Remember that. 

Merry Christmas.

Love, 

Your boys at the LH 

She smiled; feeling sentimental tears welling up her eyes. "Thank you." She choked up, greatly moved by the thoughtfulness of the gift.

"Aww, don't cry about it, it was nuttin." Bumlets shrugged, smiling.

The Jacobs came over later that day. Moira was able to exchange gift with Sarah and Les, who had pulled their money together and bought her a book on drawing. After a little while, she pulled David into the kitchen and placed his gift in front of him.

"This is my favorite poet- how did you know?" He asked, in mild amazement, after he'd opened it. Moira shrugged,

"Just a lucky guess I suppose." He smiled at her, and seemed to remember something,

"Oh, I have something for you too." He pulled out a rectangular box from his vest pocket. "Here you go, merry Christmas." She opened the box slowly and gasped as she saw that inside was a beautiful silver charm bracelet.

"David, it's beautiful! Thank you so much." Moira threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He smiled modestly and helped her put it on. She couldn't help but notice that there were only two charms. 

"I only bought two, because I figured you could add more whenever you wanted." He explained quickly. Moira looked at the two little silver figures, one of a paintbrush, and another of a book. She smiled at him and hugged him again. 

"Hey, Kelly." She called to Jack, who was sitting on the roof, in his usual spot, just as the sun was going down. He turned around and smiled at her, she walked over to him. "May I sit with you?"

"It's a free country, sit where ya like." She took a seat, and watched the colors in the sky shine from pinks and purples, mixing with the deep reds and the blue that was still trying to peek through the inevitable sunset. "Nice, huh?" Moira didn't say anything, mesmerized by the colors. 

"It's amazing how people can look at that and say there's no God." Jack looked at his companion for a minute, 

"What do you mean?"

"He's painting again." She answered simply. He smiled at the child-like statement, and they watched as slowly, the colors faded away into a deep blue freckled with silver stars. "I have something for you." Moira said suddenly, remembering the reason she'd come out on the roof in the first place, and handed him the two things she had combined to make up his Christmas gift. He looked at her for a minute before tearing the paper off of the solid square.

"A Tale of Two Cities." Jack read the title and flipped through the pages.

"It's my favorite. I took a chance and thought you might want to attempt it." She told him, noting the confusion on his face. 

"Thanks."

"Wait, there's something else." She held up the rolled up piece of paper that had been sitting on top of the book. He picked it up and unrolled it, jaw dropping when he realized what it was a picture of: himself, sitting atop a horse, in a Santa Fe setting. 

"Wow, Moira. Dis is…wow." He stuttered, searching for the proper words. "Wait a minute. I t'ought you couldn't draw from your head?"

"I didn't. You actually gave me inspiration. I went back to the Metropolitan Museum and, after a bit of searching, found a picture of a cowboy in Santa Fe. So, I drew what I could, then went home and found a picture that I had done of you already, and sort of substituted what I didn't have done. And you, monsieur, are looking at the finished result." She concluded, quite proud of herself. 

"Wow. Thank you." He said, suddenly, and pulled her into another hug. Moira didn't know what to do. Jack had transitioned from the world's most irritating soul, to a friend so quickly that Moira sometimes forgot that it had actually happened. She hugged him back, and sat silently once he'd released her. After awhile, he stood up to go inside. "Are ya comin'?" He asked, extending a hand to help her up.

"I'll be in in a minute." She told him, buttoning her coat. Jack nodded, and turned to go inside. 

Once she was certain the door was closed and no one else was coming up, Moira tilted her face up to the sky. "Hey, Grandpa. How ya doin'?" She asked the stars. "I know you can hear me, I just wish you could talk back. Is heaven nice? I'll bet it is." She sighed, able to see her breath in a cloud in front of her face. "First Christmas without you, it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. You know, it's not been easy, not having you around. I don't think anyone realized how much we all needed you." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I miss you a lot, Grandpa. So does Mother, and the boys, all of them, even if they don't let on, I know they do." Moira thought for a minute, wondering how to phrase the next thing she wanted to say. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Jack and I, we've become friends. And, I hate to say; it's because of you. He's not a bad guy, really, he's just…different. I like being around him. So, I suppose I wanted to say thank you for giving me Jack as a friend- he's been a big help." A single tear rolled down Moira's cold cheek as she looked out onto the lights of the city. "Merry Christmas, Grandpa. Merry Christmas." Slowly, Moira got to her feet and went inside. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

WHOOOO HOOO! It is finished! I am free! Well, no, the story is far from over, but at least chapter ten, which followed me around like a plague, is finished. AND NOW ON TO CHAPTER 11! Thanks for the support my peeps! 


	11. Boozies

Disclaimers: Okay, *whew* I finally finished a thirteen page chapter ten. I honestly don't know what came over me! But, here ya go, next chapter…this should be a fun one. Most likely short, but one never knows with me. Oh, and by the way, I DON'T OWN THE NEWSIES! I JUST OWN MOIRA! So please don't sue me! 

****

Chapter Eleven

They took down decorations on Boxing Day, another day when no one worked. Carefully, the tenants of the lodging house removed their handmade ornaments from the scraggly pine and handed them to Moira, who wrapped them in old newspaper and placed them in crates that were to go up to the attic. 

"Say, fella's." Jack asked, as he lifted Les up to get the silver painted star on the top. "Whadda we doin' for New Year's Eve?"

"We'se havin' a party. Like we do ev'ry year. Where ya been, Kelly?" Specs asked, setting down some more crates. 

"You comin?" Jack directed this question to Moira, who looked up surprised. 

"Me?"

"No, da Moira sittin' next ta you. Of course you! You comin' or not?" 

"Oh, well, I suppose I could." She stuttered, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Good, we'se glad ta hear it, ain't we boys?" Their leader asked, getting, once again, sounds of agreement. He smiled at her, receiving a smile in return as Moira thought about how it was such a nice invitation. 

"Mother!" She called that night, her voice ringing through the apartment, as Kathryn came storming out of her room,

"What on Earth are you screaming for?"

"I wasn't screaming. I just wanted to give you some prior notice that I'll be attending a party on New Year's Eve." Her mother perked up, almost instantly.

"Really? Who's party, might I ask?" Moira had to think about how she was going to answer this one. She knew her mother would most likely not let her go if she told her it was at the LH, but she needed a lie.

"William Baxter." She said quickly. 

"Oh, really? How lovely. Where is it?" Another lie was needed.

"He hasn't told me yet, but I'm sure everything will be…fine." 

"Of course dear, I'm sure it will be."

"So I'm allowed to go?" Moira asked, hopefully.

"I don't see why not. Actually, this is a blessing, I've been invited to the city ball, and didn't think you would want to go. It's very nice that you're going to be out somewhere, enjoying yourself, instead of sitting at home feeling depressed." Kathryn patted her daughter's cheeks. "Despite what you may think, I don't wish for your unhappiness, Moira, dear." 

"Thank you." She said quietly, feeling bad for lying. But still, the excitement of getting permission to party with the newsies covered that up. "You look very nice, where are you going?" She asked, watching her mother put on the black cloak with the beaver fur around the collar.

"A friend of mine invited me to dinner." She answered, pulling on her matching gloves, trimmed also in beaver fur. Moira nodded, wondering if she was actually going to be allowed to stay at home. "I should be home a bit late, so don't worry, just lock the door before you go to bed."

"Oh, okay." Moira agreed, quite happy with the way the conversation had turned out. 

As soon as Kathryn was gone, Moira flew down the hall and got her nightgown on, then into the kitchen for hot chocolate, and then finally onto the couch with her favorite book, where she spent the rest of the night. 

***

Moira could hear the party before she had even left her own house. There was music being played, people screaming and laughing, and every so often, she heard someone screaming off the roof, "IT'S THE END OF THE CENTURY!" 

Jack opened the door when she got there, and swooped her into the house, "HAPPY NEW YEAR, MOIRA!" He had to yell over the noise. 

"Who are all these people?" She asked. He leaned his ear down next to her mouth. 

"WHAT?"

"WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE?!" She screamed, Jack shrugged.

"JUST FRIENDS, I GUESS!" He yelled and took her hand. "C'MON, WE'LL GET YOU A DRINK!" Jack pulled her through a throng of people and into the common room, where there was a six person band playing incredibly loud, Irish dancing music. If it had been hard to hear in the foyer, it was absolutely impossible to even try to hear anything- at least from where she was standing. Everywhere she looked, there were people laughing, drinking, talking and dancing, the common room was abuzz with life. Somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen, Moira had lost Jack and now stood in the middle of the room, rather lost. Someone pushed into her by accident, knocking her backwards, sending her ricocheting off of party-goers and finally onto one of the battered sofa's next to-of all people- Kid Blink and Mush. The two deviants were sitting next to one another, taking swigs from a large, brown bottle. 

"MOIRA!" Mush shouted, excited to see her. From this side of the room, it was just a little bit easier to hear. She waved, he offered her the bottle.

"I DON'T HAVE A GLASS!" She yelled, shrugging. Blink rolled his eye, then motioned for her to drink from the bottle as they had been doing, but she vehemently shook her head. There were some things she just wasn't ready for. Mush looked around, searching for his own glass, when he spotted one nearby that was half full. Shrugging, the sixteen year old down the liquid that was inside, and filled the now-empty glass with what he had been drinking, and passed it to Moira, who put it to her lips cautiously. 

Immediately, she hated it. It tasted like nothing she had ever had and burned her throat all the way down. She coughed and sputtered, handing it back to Blink. "What is this?" She asked, yelling into his ear. 

"We don't know. A man down the street makes it for us, but he won't ever tell us what's in it."

"That's probably because he doesn't want you to know that he uses paint thinner in his beverages!"

"You're probably right!" Blink told her, refilling the glass. Not thinking, Moira took another drink. The taste was still vile, but it wasn't quite as acrid as her taste buds remembered. And, after a few gulps, it actually tasted pretty good.

"May I have some more of that?" She asked Mush. He poured her another inch, but she persistently held out her glass. "I'm going to circulate, why don't you give me some more, I don't want to have to keep coming back." Mush, smuggling laughter, poured her a half of a glass. "Thank you boys!" She yelled, getting up from the couch and easing her way back into the crowd.

By quarter to twelve, the party was two hours beyond full swing. It was now completely insane. Moira hadn't been seen for awhile, except by Kid Blink and Mush, who sporadically supplied her with liquor. 

"Hey!" David shouted, over the pounding drums of the band as they started another jig. Racetrack looked up from dealing out a game of poker. He acknowledged David with a nod, but didn't say anything. "Have you seen Moira?" He asked, surveying the room.

"Is dat her ovah dere?" Race pointed to the opposite corner of the room where Moira happened to be. David got up and cautiously made his way over to where she was, sitting on a table, talking to three men. She smiled when she saw him, her glassy eyes lighting up.

"Hiya Davey!" She cried, with the excitement of a child. David glanced at the men she'd been talking to, some factory worker who hardly looked like gentlemen. 

"Hi Moira. Are you feeling okay?" He asked, scratching the back of his neck. She giggled.

"Of course! It's the end of the century! Aren't you excited?" Before he could answer, she leaped off of the table and into his arms. Luckily, he caught her, and she laughed again. "Good catch!" David coughed, she reeked with the smell of liquor.

"What have you been drinking?" He asked, setting her feet on the ground. 

"I believe the question is what _haven't_ I been drinking. You newsies have _really_ good wine!" She exclaimed, slurring her words together and taking another gulp from her glass. 

"Moira, that isn't wine."

"Oh?"

"It's rum!" He told her, after smelling it. Her eyes widened.

"OOOOH! Is that what rum tastes like?"

"I'm not sure, but I think that maybe you've had enough." 

"Maybe…" Moira got a far away look in her eye, and after a minute, began to laugh again. "Wait…is this _booze_?" She asked, stupidly, finally making the connection.

"Yeah!" 

"Oh…huh! I've never had booze before." Moira said, still giddy. David rolled his eyes,

"I can tell!" One of Moira's 'gentlemen friends' nudged him hard in the ribs.

"Hey! Leave her alone! We was talkin' to her." 

"Look, I'm her friend and I'm trying to help her out here. Do you mind?" He asked, not wanting to deal with these men. 

"HEY EVERYONE! IT'S ALMOST MIDNIGHT!" Someone stood on a table and shouted. Everyone turned toward the clock, which read that there was about a minute left until 1900. As the minute ticked away, people began the countdown. "FIVE…FOUR…THREE…TWO…ONE…**HAPPY NEW YEAR**!" The house erupted into a thundering of applause as the people everywhere hugged and kissed one another. Moira looked around for a second, and before anyone could stop her from doing otherwise, grabbed a hold of David and planted a long, loving kiss on his lips. 

"Happy New Year, Davey." She grinned, pulling away from a shocked looking David. Moira left him there, and stumbled over to the couch where Kid Blink was still sitting, just looking slightly more dazed. "BLINKY! POUR ME ANOTHER!" She shouted, holding out her glass.

"No, I t'ink you'se had enough, Moira." He refused, shaking his head. She gritted her teeth. 

"No, I think I want another." Still, Blink shook his head and refused to give up the bottle. Moira then did something drastic, she fought the bottle away from him, held it to her lips, and took a few big gulps. Handing it back to him, she giggled and left the common room. 

Stepping into the foyer, she stumbled, caught onto something, and tried to straighten herself out. Unfortunately, her legs had decided they would refuse to cooperate with the signals her brain was sending, and she ended up falling down. A random passer-by helped her up. 

"Are you okay, love?" She asked, with concern. Moira nodded, feeling anything but, and decided that she would make her way outside before the nausea she was fighting over-rode her system.

Stumbling into the little alley between the LH and the cigar shop next door, Moira tried to breathe deeply, wishing away the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Wishing didn't seem to work though, as she held on to her stomach in pain and vomited into a nearby metal trash can. 

"Oh, God." She moaned, feeling quite disgusting. At the same time, the whole situation was hilariously funny. She thought about the lie that she had told her mother, and the city ball, and how she had thought that the booze was wine, and kissing David…it was all just so hilarious. She began to laugh, and while she laughed, she threw up, and then started to cry, like she always did when she got sick. 

When Jack entered the alley to deposit some trash, he found Moira, huddled together in the back, laughing and crying and throwing up.

"Oh my God! Moira?" He asked, running back to her. She looked up and smiled at him. 

"Hiya, Jacky." She greeted cheerily and began laughing harder. 

"What da hell happened ta you?" He asked, worried.

"I just drank…paint thinner." Moira began to giggle nonsensically again. 

"Wait here." Jack doubled back into the house, while Moira struggled to her feet and clung to the wall for support. Still, she couldn't stop laughing, even when Jack returned, carrying a glass of water. "Drink dis." He demanded, pressing it into her hands.

"What is it?"

"Just drink it!"

"Is this that rum?" She asked, licking her lips. "Cause that was gooood rum." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Wouja just drink it? It'll make ya feel bettah."

"I don't drink things when I don't know what's in them." Moira explained, trying to steady her vision.

"Really? You was chuggin' down whatevah Kid Blink was givin' ya."

"I was, wasn't I?" She laughed again as Jack put an arm around her trying to steady her while she stumbled around.

"Careful, here, just lean on me." He told her, getting sick of the way she kept laughing whenever he touched her waist.

"Y'know, I've never had rum before." 

"Ya hadda buncha people fooled about dat, Moira." Jack paused and looked down at her. "What happened, anyway?"

"I just had some booze. With the newsies." She paused for a second and thought about that. "Booze. Newsies." Another long pause. "Boozies." At this, Moira began to laugh so hard that she had tears running down her cheeks. "Boozies! What a wonderful word! Isn't it funny, Jacky boy?" 

"I t'ink it's time ya went home, Moira." He told her, though chuckling at how astounded she was by the word 'boozies.'

"Oooh, I'll be so much trouble." She said, still laughing. 

"Well, if ya need anyt'ing, you can just come back ovah." Jack told her, half-walking, half-carrying Moira across the street. When they got there, he found that she was all but asleep on his shoulder. Sighing, he pulled open the door and considered leaving her in the lobby of the building. His conscience took over, however, and he walked her up to her apartment, fished her key out of the purse, and went to unlock the door when he stopped. What if her mother was home? What would she say if she saw Jack dragging Moira home at twelve thirty, drunk as a sailor? Deciding he could lie if he had to, he turned the key and opened the door. Luckily, the house was silent, and he nudged Moira awake. 

"Hey, Moira. Where do you sleep?" He whispered, just incase Mrs. Bailey was asleep. Not opening her eyes, Moira pointed to the room at the end of the hall. Nodding, Jack took her there, and more or less pushed her on to her bed, took her shoes off for her, and pulled the covers around her. Just as he was about to leave, 

"Happy New Year, Jacky-boy." Moira muttered in her sleep. Jack smiled and left the apartment. 

"Moira Bailey, what am I gonna do wid you?" He asked the window, from the street. At the moment, he didn't know, but it wasn't a problem he needed solved right at the moment. Because, in his eyes, Moira was no longer a problem, but a solution. A currently drunk, giddy, tired, solution, but a solution none the less. 


	12. The Proposal

Disclaimers: Don't own anything. Okay, thought I'd clear the problem/solution issue up. I'm not really sure what that means right now, because when I wrote it, I meant it to be viewed as Jack seeing Moira as a general solution to whatever problems they were having. I might delve back to the Pre-Moira era of Newsiesdom, but as of right now, there's no specific reason for it. I just needed a way to end the chapter. =)

**Chapter Twelve**

_January 14, 1900_

Dear Diary,

_Today, I was presented with an interesting proposition. Jack asked me to help him propose to Sarah. As excited as I am for him, I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Something tells me she wouldn't be impressed with big words or expensive gifts…so, I'm at a bit of a loss. I'm sure that whatever he does, she'll say yes. She's madly in love with the boy, I wouldn't worry about her acceptance. I'm off to have a think about this…May write more later, but more than likely not, I'll just go to sleep. So, good night, Diary, good night._

_Moira_

Moira sat back on her bed and began to think of all the ways she could set up some sort of romantic atmosphere for Jack and Sarah. Romantic settings were not easy to find in lower Manhattan, that was for sure. As she thought, her mind wandered back across the street, to earlier that day…

"Heya, Boozy." Jack had called, sauntering into the LH, grinning. Moira rolled her eyes. Jack was one of the only ones who had remembered her drunken from New Years. She didn't really care, he was, after all, the reason she hadn't passed out in the gutter. 

"What's up?" She'd asked, looking up from polishing the countertop.

"I gots a question ta ask ya."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, actually, it's more of a favah dan anyt'ing." He looked at the ground, unsure of what to say next.

"Come on, I can't help until you tell me what it is." She prodded, smiling. Jack didn't say anything, but produced, from his pocket a small, velvet box. Moira's eyes grew wide. He popped open the top, exposing a golden band with a small, sparkling diamond on top. Her breath caught in her throat. _This _was the favor? What was he implying? It wasn't what she thought…it couldn't be. 

"I need your help." Jack said, breaking her thoughts, as she looked up at him, realizing he had said something while she'd been staring at the ring in shock.

"I'm sorry, pardon?"

"I wanna ask Sarah ta marry me." He said, seeming to repeat himself. Moira's jaw dropped and she practically leaped over the desk to hug him, quite relieved he hadn't been doing what she'd thought he was doing, which wouldn't have made sense anyway…Nevermind, she didn't want to think about it anymore.

"This is wonderful, Jack! Congratulations! But, what can I do?" She asked, pushing curls from her eyes. 

"Moira, I love her, ya know?" She nodded, "But…whaddo I say dat'll…make her wanna marry me?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. 

"Well, in my personal opinion, I don't think it's going to matter what you say, she'd going to say yes no matter what."

"Ya think?"

"I know."

"Still, I wanna do somet'in…special, ya know?"

"Yes, well, if you would still like my help, let me set something up for you. It would be my pleasure." She smiled at him; he nodded, but eyed her suspiciously,

"Wad are you thinkin'?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. But Moira only shrugged her shoulders, flipped her hair, and gone back to work without another word.

Now, however, as she sat in her room, racking her brains, Moira couldn't think of a single thing. It was too cold for a picnic, Sarah couldn't ice skate, and she had no money to send them out to dinner… She looked at the ceiling,

"Hello, God. I need a favor. You probably know this, already, but Jack's going to ask Sarah to marry him." She told the Lord, still looking up. "Anyway, I need a bit of help, finding an appropriate proposal atmosphere, do you understand? I'm sure you're very busy, wars, hunger, sickness, but, if you get around to it, just give me a little push in the right direction. I think that's it. Thank you." Moira blessed herself with the Sign of the Cross, and retuned to her contemplative state. 

"Whom were you talking to?" Kathryn asked, not bothering to knock before entering her daughter's room. Moira sat up with a start.

"Oh, hello, Mother. When did you get home?" She asked, surprised.

"A few moments ago, whom were you talking to? Is there someone here?" She repeated, looking around the room.

"No, Mother. I was talking to…" She stopped, figuring her mother wouldn't get it. "My self. Just talking to myself." Kathryn eyed her steadily.

"That's not a good sign, Moira, dear. It's a sign of insanity." She paused for a minute, shook off the thought of having a crazy daughter, and sighed. "I had _quite_ the afternoon. Mary Lennon decided today that she absolutely abhors Shakespeare and gave me these two ridiculous tickets to the theater in a week." Kathryn held up two tickets. "What in the world am I to do with them? I can't stand Shakespeare, all that insufferable droning on and on about love and death and the next thing, utterly insane, the man was, if you ask me." She turned and began walking back down the hall, still talking. "So now, I've got these two tickets, and no one to give them too." Moira couldn't believe her luck. She looked at the ceiling,

"Thank you!" She whispered, before taking off after her mother down the hall. "Mother, do you think I could…have those tickets?" Kathryn looked up, surprised.

"Have them? Whatever for?" 

"Well, I've always enjoyed Shakespeare, you remember how Father used to read it to me." 

"Oh, yes. He always was rather poetic, wasn't he?" Her mother vaguely remembered about her late husband, who had adored poetry. 

"I would rather like to see the play, which is it?" She asked, hoping it wasn't something incredibly tragic like Othello or Macbeth. Kathryn checked the tickets.

"Oh, Lord. It's…_Mid Summer Night's Dream_." Moira's jaw dropped. She didn't want to give those away! It was her _Mid Summer Night's Dream_, her Helena and Demetrius, her Puck and Oberon. She had to give those up? Still, her resolve was strong. 

"Mother…do you think I could have those?" She asked hopefully.

"Just tell me, Moira, who on Earth would you take with you? That foul Kelly boy?"

"No Mother, I have another person in mind." Her mother sighed and handed them over.

"It's not natural for a woman to enjoy theater the way you do. Just like the way you read. Why does a woman have to read?" She exclaimed, throwing herself onto the chaise lounge in a very dramatic way. Moira wasn't listening. The Lord had provided a way for her to keep her promise. She smiled,

"Thank you, Mother." The younger of the two thanked her, before flouncing off giddily to her room. Kathryn followed her with her eyes, sighed and shook her lovely head.

"That girl is on the brink of utter insanity." She muttered, under her breath. 

***

"A play? Whaddya tryin' ta do, kill me?" Jack exclaimed, the following week, when Moira finally had a chance to tell him the news. 

"Keep your voice down. And no, I'm not trying to kill you, Sarah loves Shakespeare, she told me herself." She lied, figuring that Sarah, if nothing else, would enjoy a night out. 

"How do ya know she's gonna like _dis_ play?"

"Because, _this_ is a very, very good play. Humorous, romantic, light hearted, exactly what you're looking for."

"But…I'se gonna fall asleep. You knows I don't undastand all dem fancy woids he uses in all dem plays." Jack complained, sounding like a little boy. 

"Yes, you will. It's very easy to understand." She told him, dismissively. "It's one of my favorites."

"Den why don't you go see it?" 

"Because! I'm not the one trying to propose to someone! If I were you I'd stop complaining and start acting a little more thankful!" Moira huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Jack softened, just a little, and shrugged.

"Sorry. Have I said thank you?" He asked, know that he hadn't. 

"No, but you're welcome." She told him, going behind the desk and retrieving the envelope where she'd been keeping the tickets.

"When is dey for?" He asked, taking them from her and checking the date.

"I think they're for the twenty-fourth."

"Aw, Moira! Dat's in t'ree days! I ain't gonna be ready." He exclaimed, throwing up his hands. 

"Shush, shush. You will be ready. And confidant, and this evening will go off without a hitch." She promised, taking the envelope from his dirty hands. As she did so, Moira took in Jack's tattered appearance.

The shirt and vest that only got washed every other week, the pants, with the patch in one knee, that had been mended at least a dozen times since she'd known him. And then there was that bandana. Oh, that bandana. It really was a filthy piece of cloth, covered in sweat and grime from the streets. She realized, in an instant, that she was going to have to dress this boy as well. 

"Jack, would you mind if I asked a question?" She began, trying to tread lightly.

"Shoot."

"What are you planning on wearing?" Jack looked down at his clothes, 

"Wha-sa'mattah wid whad I got on?" He asked, Moira rolled her eyes. 

"I'll find you something, not to worry. Come to my house on Friday, I will have something for you." 

He nodded, muttered another 'thank you', and went back on his rounds. Moira sat down to continue her filing, wondering why she cared so much. At least for this part of her "favor", she had a slight idea as to what the hell she was doing. 

There were three sharp knocks on the door to the apartment at six on Friday evening. Moira opened it to find Jack, looking bored. She pulled him inside. 

"You supposed to be here half an hour ago." She told him, leading him into the kitchen. 

"Yeah, sorry bout dat. Dere was dis fight down at Tibby's between two big fellas from da mills-" 

"Okay, enough." She held up a hand to stop him. 

"Why we in da kitchen?" He asked, looking around.

"I have to wash your hair."

"My hair? What's wrong wid my hair?" Immediately, Jack's hands flew to the greasy tresses. 

"It's filthy, and it's bothering me." Moira told him shortly, rolling up her sleeves and turning the water on in the sink. He eyed it cautiously, none too keen on having a girl wash his hair. "It's quite safe, I assure you." She laughed, running her hands under it to show him. 

Carefully, Jack leaned forward and put his head under the faucet. Moira, trying to maneuver around him, managed to soak his hair and pour some shampoo into the palm of her hand. She began to methodically work the lather into his hair.

"Hey, don't use too much a' dat stuff, I'se gonna smell like a goil." 

"Shush." She finished shampooing and turned the water back on, figuring if he was trying not to swallow soapy water, he wouldn't talk. 

"Ah! You'se tryin' ta drown me!" He yelled as she poured a pitcher of cold water on his head. 

"If you stopped talking I wouldn't get any in your mouth!" She exclaimed, not paying any attention to his protests. Instead, she finished rinsing the soap out, and turned off the water. He straightened up and shook his hair like a wet dog, soaking Moira. "That's lovely, Jack, I thank you." She quipped, wiping her hands on a nearby towel. Sighing, she led the way down the hall to her bathroom.

"Here is a towel, the left lever is for hot water, and the right is for cold. I've put a new bar of soap in the dish, and that door leads straight into my room." Moira pointed to the door on the opposite side of the bathroom. "I'll be in the hall if you need anything." She told him, leaving him alone. 

"Hot watah, whadda nice change dat'll be." Jack muttered, before Moira closed the door behind her. She ran into her room quickly, while she still heard the water running, and pulled the big, black trunk that had traveled with her from Boston, out of her closet. Popping open the little gold latches, Moira dug through a few items of memorabilia before she found what she was looking for, at the very bottom. A dark blue, man's suit. She took it out and brushed it off, amazed that there was hardly a wrinkle or crease to it. Finding this utterly fascinating, she held the jacket up to her face and breathed in deeply, smelling the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and peppermints. This particular article of clothing was one of the many things she was hiding from her mother- the suit had belonged to her father, and was one of his only things that she'd hid when her mother had purged the house of his memory. She looked at it for a minute, smiling sadly, rubbed the soft material against her cheek, and set the suit on her bed. 

Sitting out in the hall, Moira heard the door open, and Jack walk from the bathroom into her bedroom. It was a few minutes before,

"Moira?" Jack called, from behind her closed door.

"Yes?" She got to her feet. 

"Can you come in here?" She popped her head into the room, finding Jack fiddling with the tie. "I, uh, I don't t'ink dis is woikin'." He told her sheepishly. She shook her head and went over to him, quickly untying the knot he had tied in the blue silk. 

"You forgot to button the top two buttons."

"Yeah, dat explains it." Jack looked down at her busy fingers, slightly embarrassed. 

"You're not nervous, are you?" She asked, smiling as she finished the tie, with professional precision. 

"Nah- not really." He answered, shrugging into the jacket, which fit like a glove. Moira raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Well, maybe a little." She still said nothing as he took the ring box from his pants pocket and placed it in the pocket of the jacket. "Yeah, I'm really noivous. God, Moira, what if she says no?" He asked, beginning to sound frightened. 

"Don't fret. She won't say no. She'll agree, and you get married, and live happily ever. Just like in all of the fairy tales." She told him, smoothing out any rogue wrinkles in the suit. 

"You're sure?"

"Positive." This seemed to calm him down, as he looked in the mirror, admiring how nicely he had cleaned up. 

"Where'd ya get dis suit, anyways?" He asked, examining a sleeve.

"Oh, it was my father's, I wouldn't let my mother sell it." She explained, sitting on the bed. 

"You nevah talk about your pop, why not?"

"He died a few years ago. I'm never sure if it's right to talk about him." 

"Well, tell me about him." 

"He was a poet, an English teacher, in Boston." Moira smiled at the memory. "He loved Shakespeare, constantly quoted one play or another." She sighed. "He was a good man."

"So, dat's why you wanted ta be a teachah?" Jack asked, sitting next to her. 

"It's the reason for everything. The reason I read so much, my love of theater, I get it all from him." Jack nodded, with understanding. "So, what was your father like?" 

"A crook that drank too much and slept around…great guy." He added, sarcastically.

"So, where is he now?" 

"Da big house, upstate somewhere, I don't care." 

"And, your mother?" 

"Uh, she died, long time ago. Went straight ta heaven, dat one did." Moira smiled,

"Maybe your mother and my father are friends up there. I'm sure they would have gotten along." Jack looked at her and shared her smile before Moira caught a glimpse at the time. "Lord! You've got to go!" She exclaimed, leaping to her feet, and pushing him out of the apartment. He managed to give her a quick hug before leaving.

"I owe ya somtin, Moira. I owe ya!" He called, hurrying down the stairs. She laughed and watched him sprint down the street through her window. She was still wondering why she cared so much. It wasn't because she was waiting for comeuppance from Jack or any of the other Newsies, or some sort of unearthly reward, she just…did. It was an odd sort of caring, a kind she couldn't explain. But she was glad that it was there. 


	13. Can't Take It Anymore

Disclaimers: WHOOOOO HOOOO! Here we are, kids! Chapter 13! What's that about? My supposed 'one hit fic' which is what the bet was, has turned into an epic! And nothing has even happened yet! Haha. Again, thanks for the wicked reviews, and…oh yeah, the reason for disclaimers- I own nuttin. Nuttin at all! Enjoy! 

Chapter Thirteen

So Moira sat, and watched out the window until long after Jack had disappeared from view. The door opened, and her mother swept in, breaking her thoughts. 

"Oh, Moira, you're home. Wonderful, just the girl I wanted to speak with." 

"As opposed to the plethora of girls around me?" Moira asked, surprising herself with her sarcasm.

"There's no need for wit. I have to speak with you." 

"Sorry, Mother, what is it?" 

"I've just met with our accountant. Would you like to hear what he told me?" Kathryn asked, then, without waiting, continued. "He told me that you seem to have expended most of your personal finances. And, my understanding is, that you did it in quite a short time." Moira jaw hung open. "Would you like to tell me how you did that?" 

"Well, Mother…the funny thing about that is…." She trailed off, not knowing what to say. She was broke. Flat broke.

"IT'S GONE MOIRA! ALL OF YOUR MONEY IS GONE!" Kathryn yelled, standing over her daughter. "HOW DID YOU GO FROM A BANK STATEMENT OF OVER FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS TO A TOTAL OF THREE DOLLARS AND TWENTY NINE CENTS?" She asked, her face turning red.

"I had things that I needed to take care of."

"Well, if that's your answer, I would like you to take care of something else now. You will be getting a job. And no, I am not referring to that…house that you call your place of employment, I mean a real job. A teaching job, if at all possible. Do you understand?" Moira looked at the ground,

"Yes, ma'am." She whispered softly. 

"Good, now go and get ready."

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, Moira dear, you may be poor, but I'm not going to let you starve." Her mother scoffed, sighing. "Go on, wear that lovely blue dress. You look so nice in blue." She told her, as a way of smoothing over whatever hung in the air between them. Moira said nothing, but made her way back to her room to get ready for dinner. 

"So, Moira, darling, what on Earth happened between you and dear Jonathan?" Elizabeth Darcy, a girl a few years older then Moira, asked gaily over coffee that evening. Elizabeth was a beautiful girl with absolutely no talent in anything. She was rather dim witted and content to live the rest of her life with the upper class, filling her time with dinners and parties. Moira despised Elizabeth Darcy.

Still, she put on a false smile and sipped her own cup of coffee. "Well, Elizabeth, darling, I wasn't quite ready to surrender all of my freedom to a man who has the personality of a doorknob." Kathryn glared at her from across the table. Moira paid no attention and went back to sipping her coffee, while Elizabeth looked confused.

"Well, you were the talk of the town for quite awhile. Unmarried, working at some kind of run down _lodging house _for…what was it? Oh yes, newsboys! The rumors we were hearing! The Bailey girl! Working with newsboys! Thank God they're not true!" Elizabeth's mother, Annabelle, who was just a foul, cackled in a loud voice. Moira felt her cheeks turn pink, but said nothing. Mrs. Darcy sobered and eyed her. "They're aren't true, are they?" Annabelle demanded, glancing around the table, the finally at Kathryn, who had become suddenly interested with her utensils. "Oh, goodness! They are!" She exclaimed, dabbing tears from her eyes in laughter. When she finally calmed down, Elizabeth leaned forward.

"Do you really?" She asked, interested.

"Yes, I do."

"What on Earth would possess you to do that?" Annabelle asked, making Kathryn want to sink into her chair as the Darcy's interrogated her daughter. 

"Well, I started there in August, because my grandfather needed my help. But since he's past away, I haven't found the heart to leave them." 

"What do you do?" Elizabeth asked, concerned.

"I do all sorts of office work, and I occasionally help with the cleaning and washing. You can't expect boys to do it all, can you?" Moira laughed, trying to make a joke. No one laughed, just stared at her like she was some kind of alien life form. 

"That must be horrible! Those boys are filthy! They drink, smoke, steal, lie…just menaces to society. Kathryn, how do you allow such things like that?" Mrs. Darcy asked, as Moira boiled inside. "Those boys…."

"Perhaps we can marry her off to one of them!" Elizabeth crowed, sending the entire table into a fit of laughter as Moira faked a smile.

"Well, actually, Liz, being married to one of _those boys _as you refer to them, would probably be one of the best things that could happen to me. You see, unlike anyone in _your _social circle, the people _I_ surround myself with have _personalities_. They actually enjoy their lives, something that it completely beyond your comprehension." Moira stated calmly, putting down her fork. 

"I- I enjoy my life." Elizabeth stammered, taken aback. The table grew silent. 

"No, you don't. You may tolerate you life, because you're comfortable and it's all you know, but trust me, once you had a taste of life outside of society, you wouldn't want to go back. And when you were forced to, you would feel like a prisoner." The young woman stood up, glaring at everyone, gathered her things together, and left the restaurant.

As she walked back to her apartment, the sky opened up and it began to snow. Moira sighed; pulled her coat tighter around her and picked up the pace a bit. Still raging from dinner, she went over, in her mind, what had been said, and just when she had snapped. 

"_That must be horrible! Those boys are filthy!" _That was when she had begun to come unwound. The nerve of that awful Mrs. Darcy. She didn't know the newsies; she didn't realize that they were filthy because they only had enough running water for them to take one bath a week. How dare she make such uneducated remarks about them! Moira surprised herself with how upset she had gotten. The comment about marriage was uncalled for as well. _Stupid Elizabeth Darcy_. Engaged to some baron over in England. _Stupid England. _She thought, trudging along through the snow. Her thoughts were juvenile and childish, but Moira didn't care. 

She was just plain sick. Sick of everything. Sick of plastering on fake smiles and feigning happiness. Sick of people asking what was to become of her. Sick of thinking about marriage. Sick of her mother and all of her friends who laughed the same, talked the same, thought the same, and were basically the same person, just in different forms. She was sick of dealing with people who broke their heads worrying about whether to wear Italian silk shoes with a French made dress. She was sick of Italian silk and French designers. But out of all of these things, Moira was sick of not knowing what she wanted from life anymore. 

When she was at the university, her life had been so well planned, so clearly laid out in front of her. Then her father had died. And she then moved to New York after graduating. Then her grandfather died. And then she ran out of money. And now, here she was, freezing, ruining her Italian silk shoes as she shuffled through the snow. Yes, things had turned out just swimmingly. Moira huffed and picked up the pace, getting home just as the snow really began coming down.

She made herself some tea, filled the tub with steaming hot water and lilac bath oil that someone had brought her from Europe, got out of her cold clothing, and sank into the bubbles, ready to relax. The only thing that made her smile about the whole ruined evening, was that across town, Jack was proposing to Sarah. Moira smiled at the thought of how Sarah's eyes would light up, and how Jack would be smiling as they walked back to the Jacob's apartment to tell them the good news. 

"Well, congratulations." She told the empty room. Moira was happy for them, she really was. But her happiness would be much easier to achieve if her life wasn't such a royal mess. 

***

The next day, Jack ducked his head in around noon, grinning like an idiot, with a pile of papers under his arm. Moira raised her eyebrows,

"Well…?"

"She said 'yes'." He told her, smiling from ear to ear. She came around the desk and gave him a hug.

"I knew she would. Congratulations."

"Oh, and dat play. Sarah really liked dat play." 

"I'm glad. What did you think of it?" 

"Eh- I seen bettah." Moira rolled her eyes, and went back to her post on the other side of the counter. She looked at the newspapers he carried, dug into her purse for a penny, and tossed it to him.

"May I have one of those?" She asked, thinking about the employment section. Jack shrugged and gave it to her before saying goodbye and heading back on his rounds. 

An hour or so later, Racetrack came back, surprising the young office girl. He explained that he had stuck to Manhattan today, instead of heading out to Sheepshead. Race looked around the office, noticing that Moira had newspaper spread all over the place, with big circles spotted all over the page.

"Whaddya doin' Moira?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. She glanced up and sighed.

"Trying to find a job."

"But ya gotta job."

"Tell that to my mother." 

"Nah, dat's all right. Your mudda…she's scary." Moira giggled and went back to looking at the columns and columns of potential jobs. She had been wrong last night, her life wasn't a complete mess, she still had the newsies. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Yeah, that was another random. I don't know what's going on with me lately. Anywho- I hoped ya liked it! Thanks again for the reviews- keep 'em comin'! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT! 


	14. Questions and Answers

Disclaimers: You know the drill…don't own anything…yada yada yada….

**** ****

Chapter Fourteen 

And so the job search began. By the first week of February, Moira had narrowed her list of potential employers to a list of twelve. Four of which she would have to take the train to other parts of New York. She sat, making up a list of credentials for each school she was going to apply. So far, she had one list started, for Landbury Academy, an hour away by train. On this list, so far, was one item: ** Has worked with children since age thirteen. **And so far, that was it. Moira blew a sigh through her bangs and tried to think. 

****

The bell jingled and she looked up to see David and Les walking toward the desk. Les grinned as he placed an apple in front of her.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Jacobs. What brings you to these parts?" She asked, not caring which Jacobs boy answered. 

"We wanted to bring you lunch. In case ya got hungry or something." Les explained, pointing to the apple. 

"And, to see if we could help with anything. Jack told us you're filling out applications." David filled in, pointing the papers all around her. She nodded.

"That's very sweet of you. But I'm not sure how you help me list my credentials." 

"Then don't do that part right now. Why not fill out the actual application. You can always give them your credentials at the interview, after all. Besides, you'll feel like you've done more when you do the part you know." He winked and unearthed one from the stack. "Here we go, Amburst Preparatory School For Girls." 

Moira took it and glanced over the criteria she was to fill out. "**Name**: Moira Elizabeth Bailey. **Age**: Eighteen. **Place of Birth**: Boston, Massachusetts. **Date of Birth**: July 8, 1882. **Mother's maiden name**: Kathryn Frances Kloppman. **Father's name**: Brian Morgan Bailey." She looked up from her work. "These are easy!" She exclaimed, smiling. David smiled back. "Hmm. **Current Place of Residence**: New York City, New York. **Current Marital Status**: Unmarried. **Current Source of Income**…hmm…" Moira looked up at David, who shrugged. "Do you think they would pity me if I wrote down 'none'?" She asked, chewing her inner cheek. 

"You could try." Moira shrugged and scribbled it down. She continued on at this pace for a little while longer, and was finished with her apple and applications in no time.

"Moira, can I help?" Les asked, looking bored.

"Of course you can help! Here, we're going to have a little work line. I'll put these in envelopes, you put a stamp on them, and then give them to your brother to seal." This seemed to satisfy the little boy, and the three of them spent the next few minutes, until all twelve envelopes were sealed and addressed, ready to be mailed. "So, which one of you lucky gentlemen wants to walk me to the post office?" She asked, hopefully.

"I will!" Les exclaimed, jumping down from the stool that he'd been perched upon. Moira laughed.

"Sorry, David. Looks like he beat you to it." She shrugged, making David smile. "I suppose you have to go back to work?"

"Correct." He admitted regrettably.

"Do you want me to just bring Les back here after the post office?" 

"I've got to work too!" The little boy interrupted. His two older companions looked at him. 

"Why don't I meet you both at Tibby's in twenty minutes." David suggested, and Moira looked at Les,

"Does that sound good to you?" She asked, awaiting his approval, which he gave with a nod. "Good, that's settled. I'll see you in a few minutes then. Thank you for your help." David waved goodbye and Moira and Les set out for the three-block walk to the post office. 

"Y'know, I should've let Davey go with you." The ten-year-old child told her, as they stepped around a sewer grate. 

"Why?" She asked, eyeing him with interest.

"I don't know. Davey likes you an awful lot, Moira."

"Oh, really?"

"Yup."

"How do you know this? Did he tell you?" 

"No, but I can tell. He always talks about you, and he shines his shoes for at least an _hour _before he goes to visit you." Les informed her, with the insight that only a child possessed. Moira smiled.

"That's interesting."

"Do you like him?" She stopped walking. That was a quite a question, and she didn't know just how to answer it. "Well, do you?" He pressed, eyebrows raised. 

"Well…of course I like him, he's my best friend." She finished, with the safest answer possible. Les nodded, slightly disappointed, but said nothing as they began walking again. She ruffled his hair, "And since when are you so concerned with who David likes?" Les blushed and rolled his eyes. 

A month from the day she sent her applications, Moira received twelve letters back, ten asking for interviews, the other two basically telling her not to waste her time. She tore each open with enthusiasm. Just as she was finished with the last one, Jack strode in, as he usually did, to find a completely elated Moira. 

"What's goin' on, Moira?" He asked, not being able to help smiling as her green eyes scanned the paper she held. She showed it to him,

"Interviews, at almost all the schools I applied to." Jack smile grew wider,

"Congratulations!" He exclaimed, though not really sure what that meant. He didn't have to wait long, however, as Moira flattened the letter out further and read some of it to him. 

"_Dear Miss Bailey,_

_We at Amburst Preparatory have received you letters of interest, as well as your application. We would like to meet with you, to discuss any possible future that you may have with our school. Please contact us to set up an interview at a desirable time for you…" _Moira stopped reading, but looked up, cheeks glowing. 

"So, you'se gonna get a job?" Jack asked, making sure he understood what she'd just told him.

"Maybe. It certainly sounds like though, doesn't it? I suppose that if I do well at my interview, I'm going to be considered." This was all he needed to hear- he lifted her off the ground and spun her around in a hug, making her squeal with laughter. Jack stayed and talked with her for a few minutes, before regrettably returning to work. 

Moira watched as he walked past the window, smiling giddily. It had been a very good day.

***

_March 9, 1900_

_Dear Diary, _

_I received word from TEN of the schools that I sent applications to. They want me to come for an interview! All ten of them! Isn't that exciting? I told Mother, she was thrilled (if I'm out of the house, she won't have to pay for my meals anymore- remember that) and took me to dinner to celebrate. _

In other news, Sarah is still having problems with her wedding dress. She apparently bought it from some woman at the seamstress shop, where she works, because she figured she could just mend it and it would be fine. From what she tells me, the woman who had attempted to wear the dress before her was at least five hundred pounds. Well, not really, but you get the idea. Anyway, I offered her mine. I'm not going to be using it anytime soon, I've never worn it- it's good as new. Of course, I then had to explain all about Jonathan, and how the wedding gown itself had been a present for my sixteenth birthday. She laughed, actually, at the thought of being given a wedding dress as a birthday present, especially when it meant you were going to marry someone you barely knew. It's times like these that I realize that, although we're friends, Sarah and I are very, very, different. But she and Jack are ridiculously happy together. And I can't help but be happy for them. 

-Moira

Now, Delaney was more confused than before. Now _Sarah_ was marrying Jack? This was like some sort of turn-of-the-century soap opera. So, Sarah was with Jack, although it was now common knowledge that Moira was supposed to end up with Jack, and then there was David- who had really become kind of inconsequential to this whole messy business. There was, of course, that one entry after Les had told Moira that David liked her. So, David liked Moira, who would eventually fall in love and marry Jack, who was engaged to Sarah, who was Moira best friend. Of course! It made perfect sense! 

Delaney shook her head, and went back to stirring the spaghetti sauce. From outside, she heard Keaton's Cavalier pull up and quickly put the diary away. The last thing she needed was for him to get up in arms about her reading while she was cooking. Keaton never shared her enthusiasm for things like that. No, she hid the book in the cutlery drawer- Moira's confusing life could wait. Pasta couldn't. 

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Authors Note: Mreh! My reviews kick absolute butt! I love you all sooo much! Your feedback is my life's blood, even though it feels like it's taken a really long time for me to get this chapter up. I, once again, don't feel it's up to par. However- the next chapter plans to be rather interesting- I hope. Enjoy! LA VIE BOHEME!!


	15. Me Too

Disclaimers: Of course I don't own this Newsies nonsense! What were you thinking- silly gooses! Okay, sorry about the wait for the last chapter. I have the whole story mapped out in my mind, so things should be rolling along quite smoothly from now on. No guarantee on how long it will be until I finish- I'm hoping before July, because then I'm off on a crazy bunch of vacations and I'll never update. GOD! There I go- a'ramblin' again. Marshy, you understand about my rambles- and well, everyone who's been reading this story should be used to them by now. Much love! Read on!

****

Chapter Fifteen

Things were not going well. Moira had been on three different interviews in one week and none of them had gone as well as she would have liked. She had been late for two of them, one due to the train and the other due to her own foolishness for not thinking of being punctual. And the third had seemed like a short-lived nightmare. The headmaster of this school was a rather rigid elderly woman who sat up so straight that Moira wondered if she even knew how to slouch. That had probably been the worst- the woman, Margaret Donovan, had swept into the room looking immaculate, in a striking blue suit with her white hair tied at the top of her head, took one look at Moira and said "no, I don't think so." Just like that! Without any cause or reasons at all! 

On top of the job search (which was going downhill and picking up speed as it went), Mush had come home with an awful cold a few days ago. Within hours, Kid Blink came down with the same symptoms, followed by Racetrack, then Pie Eater, Snipeshooter, and by the end of the week, the entire lodging house was filled with the sounds of coughing and sniffling. Hardly anyone was working. David, Les, and Jack were among the few who managed to crawl out of bed every morning to haul themselves down the distribution office for the morning papes. Moira was trying her best to make sure they all stayed in bed and got plenty of rest, but she soon realized that a) they all shared beds with at least one other person, and b) there was nothing she could do for them without a doctor. So, Moira called the doctor, who, after a day and a half, finally stopped by the LH. 

"I'm sorry Miss Bailey, but I just don't have the time to examine all of them!" He exclaimed, when she told him she had almost fifty sick boys that needed to be looked at. 

"Well, just examine one of them, then. They've all got the same bloody thing." Moira snapped, wanting to be able to get work done again, without having to worry who was coughing on whom. Sighing, the doctor grabbed a random newsie and gave him a quick inspection. 

"Looks like a mild case of influenza, to me." He said, after a few minutes, pushing Specs away as he began to cough again. Moira rolled her eyes.

"What do you suggest I do about that?" She asked, scratching her neck. 

"Are you responsible for all of these boys?" He wondered, marveling at how many there were.

"What kinda question is dat? A' course she's 'sponsible for us! If we didn't have our Moira, we'd all be dead by now." Racetrack hollered hoarsely from the other room.

"Yeah, dead!" A chorus of sick newsies echoed. 

"As I was saying, Miss Bailey, my best advice to you would be to make sure they get plenty to drink and lots of rest and try to 'atone' to their needs. With any luck it should pass by itself." With that, he tipped his hat and left before she could ask any more questions. 

Sighing, she went back behind the desk where a pile of clean blankets were waiting, where she had told Mrs. Jacobs to leave them the previous morning. She scooped them up and walked back into the common room. 

"Who's cold?" Moira asked, as Bumlets kicked off his afghan, 

"I'm hot." 

"I'm cold." Itey grabbed Bumlets' discarded blanket and another one from the pile. 

"I'm cold too." Racetrack grumbled, sounding like a child. She tossed him an extra blanket and felt everyone's foreheads. Still fevers. After everyone upstairs and down were blanketed and cared for, Moira collapsed in her chair behind the desk. However, as she yawned, she caught sight of the time. It was two thirty. She was due at her interview at three. That left her only a few minutes to get from the LH and onto a carriage where she would need to be taken all the way across the city, which took more than a half an hour.

Leaping to her feet, she pulled on her hat and jacket, grabbed her portfolio, and flew out of the house, calling behind her,

"Wish me luck, boys!" 

"Good luck!" They croaked out, amidst their coughing spells. Moira almost ran into an elderly couple as she stumbled into the street and flagged down a carriage. 

"Where to, love?" The driver, a fat man with a stubbly chin, asked, as she slid onto the smooth, black leather seat. 

"Souderton Academy, please." She instructed, straightening out her hat and hoping she would get there on time. 

When the carriage finally pulled up to Sutherton Academy, Moira, who had been praying so hard her fingers hurt, checked her watched and gave a frustrated sigh while paying the driver a few coins. She was fifteen minutes late. The great oak doors of the Academy were opened for her, and she scurried inside, nervously fidgeting. The heels of her shoes clicked as she hurried along the enormous marble corridor, looking for someone who could help her. At the end of this great entrance hall was a flight of marble stairs. Someone instructed her to go up them and seek out the Headmistress. She heeded this advice, and marched up the stairs, where she found yet another oak door, with a small, gold, plaque that read _Headmistress. _Moira checked her letter, which told her that she had an appointment with the headmistress, said another quick prayer, and knocked timidly on the door. 

"Come in." She pushed gently on the door, and saw that it led to an office, with a rather large man in a suit, sitting behind the desk. The man himself was enough to make Moira, a nervous creature by nature, want to drop her things and run back down the hallway. She didn't, however, and took a few timid steps into the office. "May I help you, Madame?" He asked, standing up to his full height. (At least 6 and half feet.) 

"Headmistress?" Moira managed to squeak out, as he stepped a few steps nearer to her. 

"Is she expecting you?" She nodded, looking straight up at the man who was at least a foot taller than she. "Just a moment." This 'secretary' left the small office and opened the door at the back of the office, which had a gold plate to match the one on the first door. Moira heard them talking in hushed tones before the man stepped out of the way, smiled a short, impersonal smile, and said, "You may go in." 

She walked into the second office, finding herself in an absolutely enormous room; lavishly decorated it was just beautiful. There were rich, upholstered sofas, shiny, polished, wooden floors, it seemed like every inch of the office was glittering with polish and shine. There was also a desk. Behind the desk, a large, bay window that over looked a valley behind the school. And standing in front of the window, with her back toward Moira, was a woman. 

Dressed like all of the headmistresses Moira had met with in her time, this woman was wearing a forest green skirt and jacket, cream silk blouse, and a little tie around the collar, the same color as the suit. She had red hair, swept up in a bun atop her head, with a few strands twirling around her long, graceful, neck. She turned around suddenly, and Moira saw how beautiful she was. She looked to be about twenty-five, with large, blue eyes, defined, rosy cheeks, and a red mouth that formed a little 'o' in surprise, before turning into a smile of beautiful, white, teeth. 

"Well, hello there." She said, pleasantly, coming toward Moira and extending her hand. "You must be Miss Bailey. How lovely to finally meet with you." She had the trace of a British accent, which made her all the more charming. "I'm Elizabeth Sutherton. It is a pleasure." Moira shook her hand, and smiled, her nervousness draining slowly.

"Yes, a pleasure. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." The interview was already off to a good start. The two women sat down and began talking. As the meeting progressed, Moira found herself enjoying the company of Elizabeth Sutherton more and more. _I could work for her._ She thought, being quizzed on her personal history. She decided then and there, that this was her favorite potential boss yet. 

"Well, everything seems to be in good order, why don't I let you know what our decision is in a few weeks?" She asked, closing the portfolio, after reading Moira's credentials. 

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Miss Sutherton."

"Of course, dear. Of course." The older of the two women smiled before looking at the elegant gold clock that hung on the wall. "Oh my! It's practically supper time." She exclaimed, making Moira realize how hungry she was. "Where are you going? I'll call you a carriage." 

"I have to go back down to lower Manhattan." A look of shock came over Elizabeth's lovely face.

"My heavens, child! You'll be half starved by the time you get there. Please, join me for supper." Moira was taken aback, 

"Me?" 

"Well of course you! I quite enjoy your company." 

"But," She looked down at her clothes. "We're not even dressed properly." 

"Why, your right! I suppose we'll just have to shock the world and go out," Elizabeth lowered her voice, "_in our afternoon clothes." _Moira laughed and agreed that it sounded like a good idea. 

"So, Moira-you don't mind if I call you that, do you?" Elizabeth asked, over coffee later that evening. 

"Of course not."

"What do you do?" 

"What do I do?" Moira repeated, wondering how to answer such a question.

"Yes, during the day. You don't strike me as the type to _enjoy_ days at polo matches and teas. You're not that kind of girl, are you?"

"No, I wouldn't say I was." 

"I didn't think so. So, what do you do?"

"Well…I…work at…the lodging house, for newsboys in Manhattan." She expected some sort of negative reaction. Moira herself was not ashamed of the newsies, or the LH, but sometimes telling people was a bit difficult. 

"The newsies?" Elizabeth exclaimed, amazed. "You work with newsies?" 

"Yes, I do."

"Goodness, that must be awfully fascinating! They seem like such pleasant sorts. Always having fun…heavens, they make me smile just thinking about them." Moira returned the smile,

"Yes, they really are great people. My best friends, actually." 

"That's just lovely. Tell me about them."

"All of them?" 

"Not _all _of them. Some of them."

"Well, there's David. He really _is_ my best friend. He has been, since I started working there last summer. We have quite a bit in common, books, music, manners, the whole bit. He's great." 

"David…who else?"

"There's Racetrack. He's quite interesting, once you get past the gambling addiction and love of cigars. Always ready to place a bet on something, always." Elizabeth smiled, and urged Moira on. "And if I tell you about Kid Blink, I'd have to tell you about Mush as well, because they're each other's shadows. I never see one without the other, it's nice though, since I adore both of them." She went on, telling her new companion about Specs, Skittery, and a few of the others before Jack's name came up. 

"Now, this Jack fellow, tell me about him." Moira smiled, as Jack's face appeared in her mind.

"Jack, Jack. He's quite an amazing person, once you get to know him. Always laughing, cracking jokes, constantly trying to make me…live life. Do you understand what I mean? Everything he says to me, everything he does, and it's all because he says he wants me to enjoy my life more."

"And do you, enjoy your life?"

"It depends on where I am."

"Well, do you enjoy your life when you're with him?"

"Oh, yes." Moira said softly, unintentionally thinking about all the times Jack had made her appreciate her life. Starting with that first hug after Kloppman had died. All the talks on the roof, the museum, Christmas, New Years…he had made her life better, without her even realizing it. 

"Moira…Moira?" Elizabeth asked, smiling slightly. She waved a hand in front her face. Moira's eyes refocused and turned to Elizabeth. 

"Yes?"

"Oh, I see."

"You see what?"

"I just…see." 

"I'm not sure that I understand."

"You're in love with this Jack fellow." Moira actually laughed. Her? Jack? Preposterous! 

"No, no, no. He's just a very dear friend of mine." 

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, it is." 

"Take it from someone with a long line of love affairs," Elizabeth began, downing the rest of her coffee. "You don't get _that look _over a dear friend." They both laughed at that, before Moira overheard a waiter telling another table what time it was. Then Elizabeth confessed that she had an 'engagement' later on in the evening. So, after saying goodbye, each woman got into their own carriages and went their separate ways. 

The carriage dropped her off at the LH. As she paid the driver, he gave her a wink,

"Where's you're escort tanight, love?" He asked. It was a different driver than had taken her to Sutherton, but Moira was pretty sure that all drivers were the same. Still, she smiled and pointed to the house,

"All fifty of them are in there." She thanked him and got down, looking up at the sky as he drove away. In the late March air, it was still rather chilly, but the sky held no signs of clouds as the pinks and oranges faded into the deep, blue of twilight. She took a deep breath and was about to turn around, when she noticed a pair of legs, dangling off the side of the building, and a stream of smoke coming from the body attached. _Jack. _Figuring she could just tell him how well the interview went, and then head across the street back home, Moira entered the lodging house and quickly made her way up to the roof, yelling greetings to the sick children inside. 

"Hey, Jacky-boy." She greeted, approaching him from behind. He didn't say anything, but she heard a sniff, and he took a ragged breath. "Jack? What's the matter? Have you been crying?" She asked, sitting down next to him, he sniffed again and wiped at his eyes.

"No, I ain't been cryin'." He lied. Moira let it go, figuring he didn't want to be patronized. 

"What happened?" She scooted closer to him, and put a hand on his arm. 

"Sarah." 

"What about Sarah?" 

"She gots herself a job."

"Well, that's great. Isn't it?"

"No it ain't great. Da jobs in Illinois." He pronounced the 's' on Illinois, but Moira decided now was not the time to correct him. 

"Well, then…I'll miss you." 

"Miss me? Wad are ya talkin' about, Moira? I ain't goin' nowhere." He told her, confused. Unfortunately, she was only getting more confused, and neither was understanding the other. 

"So, you're both staying here?" 

"No."

"You're both…going to Illinois?" She guessed.

"No." 

"Well then, Jack, I'm just a little confused. You're going to get married, how is this going to work?" 

"It's not. We ain't gettin' married." At this, Moira's jaw dropped. They weren't getting married? But they had to! They were perfect for each other! He unclenched his fist and set the silver band on the concrete between them. "She says dat dis guy she's gonna woik for, really rich guy, is only gonna let her be a nanny to his kids if she ain't married. Says he ain't got da room for her ta be married." 

"I'm sorry." She whispered, not sure if that was the right thing to say. 

"Yeah, me too." They sat quietly for a while, neither really sure what to say.

"Why don't we go for a walk, or head down to Tibby's? My treat." She said, after a little while, but he shook his head. 

"I just…wanna be up here for a liddle bit." 

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to leave?" He shook his head again; a few pieces of blonde fell into his eyes. He reached over and grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. 

"I'm glad you're here." Moira rested her head on his shoulder,

"Me too." 

______________________________________________________________________________________

YES! FINALLY! I BROKE ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS! Didn't think it was possible, didja? Well ha! It was. Mucho gracias to my best friend, the lovely and talented Marshy who FINALLY put me over the edge! There it was, the long awaited chapter fifteen. Enjoy! And, as if I have to add, review!! 


	16. A Shift of Focus

Disclaimers: Own nothing. Nuff said. 

****

Chapter Sixteen 

And so Sarah left. And with her, went Jack's good spirits. He took to spending his free time alone in the empty bunkroom, throwing a baseball against the wall, sometimes not even bothering to catch it. And when the bunkroom was full, he was on the roof, smoking and looking at the sky. Everyone was worried, including Moira, as dreary April turned into May. It had been almost two months that Jack had been depressed. 

"I'd talk to him, but what am I supposed to say?" She asked Racetrack, who had been pestering her about getting Jack out of his slump.

"How about 'buck up, buddy! She's gone. You're sad. Get ova it.' How does dat sound?" He suggested, puffing his cigar. The smoke billowed up and Moira began coughing,

"Must you smoke?"

"Yes."

"Fine then. And to answer your question, I'm not sure that would go over very well." She sighed, glancing outside, where the weather was finally starting to look cheerful. "Isn't it glorious outside?" Racetrack looked out the window and shrugged,

"Yeah, glorious." He set his cards down. "I win." Moira rolled her eyes and pushed her I.O.U.'s toward him. 

"I think I owe you my freedom." 

"Yeah, according to this, I own you." Race looked at the slips of paper, smiling. Moira smiled back, 

"I'm running out of things to bet. I suppose next time it will be my reserved spot in heaven."

"HA! Like you could gets inta heaven." She leaned across the little table and whacked his arm. "Ow! Moira! I'se just jokin' wid ya!" They stopped laughing and he pointed upwards. "Go and talk ta him, please? I'll let ya keep your kids dat ya owe me." Moira gave him a quick silly grin, before frowning at the task that lie ahead. She sighed and took the stairs two at a time, opening the bunkroom door to find Jack lying on his bunk, jaw set, tossing a baseball from hand to hand. 

"Hey." She greeted, timidly. He didn't look at her. "How are you?" 

"Fine." His voice was monotone. The only other sound beside the baseball, going from hand to hand, was the sound of Moira's heels, clunking against the wooden floors. 

"That's good." 

"Is dat all you wanted?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure yet."

"Den decide outside. I wanna be alone." 

"Sorry, I'm afraid that's no longer an option." Her chin just came up to the mattress, she rested it there. Jack still didn't look at her.

"Funny, Moira. Leave me alone."

"No. You've been alone for two whole months now. It's time to stop." She wasn't being mean about it, just firm. 

"Maybe I don't wanna stop." 

"Too bad." 

"No, it's not too bad. It don't mattah if I wanna stay inside foreva. It don't mattah if you want me to or not, it's wad I'm gonna do." He snapped, still not looking at her. 

"If you're going to shout at me, you could at least look at me." 

"And if _you'se _gonna yell at _me_ for bein' upset, you might as well forget it!" He yelled, sitting up and staring at her finally. Moira took a step back. 

"I'm not going to forget it, Jack. I'm worried about you. Everyone is." 

"Really?" 

"Of course. You're the leader, remember?" 

"Yeah, whatevah. Da strike's ova, Moira. Dey don't need a leada no more." 

"But they do need you! You're not the only one Sarah left, you know. She was one of my friends as well, and David's _sister. _But she's gone, we don't know for how long. Okay? I'm not saying you didn't have a right to be sad, but enough is enough already!" She slammed a fist onto the mattress. Jack was quiet for a minute, not really sure what to say to 'mean Moira.' She didn't know what to say. She hadn't meant to be mean, it had just happened. "Sorry." She apologized, meekly looking at the ground. The baseball fell from his hand, onto the floor, and rolled to her foot. "I-I didn't know you liked baseball." 

"Love it."

"I didn't know that." 

"Dere's a lot of t'ings you don't know about me, Moira. Doesn't mean dey ain't dere." Jack mumbled, still thinking about what she had said before. "You like baseball?"

"I used to play with my cousins when I was a little girl, it used to upset Mother, but it was always fun. I'm not sure I ever really understood the sport though." Silence fell upon the room again as Moira writhed uncomfortably in place. Wishing she had thought before saying what she had to Jack. "Well, my work is done for the day. I think I'll go down to Central Park for a bit." She turned away from him and started toward the door.

"With Davey?" He asked, sounding slightly put out. She looked at him, confused.

"I don't know. If I see him, then maybe. But I'm not sure. Goodbye, Jack." 

Moira sat on a bench in the park with her sketchpad, drawing a little red-headed boy with a puppy. She was adding freckles to his little face when someone sat down beside her. She looked up to see David, leaning over, looking at the sketch. 

"Hello, stranger!" She exclaimed, greeting him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I feel like I haven't seen you for a long time."

"I know what you mean, I've been busy. How're you interviews going?" He asked, eagerly.

"Bad topic. What are you doing here?"

"Teachin' you how ta play baseball!" Kid Blink's unmistakable voice shouted from somewhere behind her. Moira turned around to see at least half of the newsies coming toward her in a big crowd. She laughed as she saw that they were all carrying bats and mitts. As they approached, she covered her mouth with a hand,

"Why?"

"Because, Moira. If your gonna spend a summah wid us, ya gotta know how ta play baseball, for real. None 'a dis 'for fun' stuff." Mush explained, as though she should have guessed already. And, in a way, she had, as soon as she saw Jack's face among the crowd. He came forward, looking smug. 

"I suppose you've snapped out of your spell?"

"I'm getting' dere."

"And I'm also going to assume that you're the one who came up with this whole idea?" 

"Now, Moira. Have I _ever_ come up wid an idea dat wadn't supported by da whole unit of newsies?" She sighed, and rolled her eyes,

"All right Kelly, let's play ball." This was met by a roar of approval from the mob, and with that, they split up into teams and half of them took to the field.

About a half an hour later, all previous negative thoughts were forgotten as they played. Moira, rather timid at the idea of swinging a bat, remained in the cheering section, being just as loud as the boys when the occasion called for it. 

"ATTA BOY DAVEY!!" She hollered at one point, after David hit a triple, so loudly that Jack, who was pitching, looked at her surprised. She shrugged and took a hit of the cigarette that Blink offered her. When they switched positions, Jack stepped up to bat. Race was pitching. "DON'T WASTE YOUR TIME, RACE! JACK COULDN'T HIT THE BROAD SIDE OF A BARN!" She'd heard that somewhere, and had always wanted to say it. At this, the batter dropped the bat and stared at her, amazed.

"You wanna try dis?" He asked, holding out the bat. She thought about it for a second, and in a wave of rare courage, shrugged, indifferently.

"Sure, why not?" Moira took it from his hand and stood at the plate like she had seen all of them do. "I'm all talk, you know. I really have no idea what I'm doing." She confessed, grinning at Jack,

"Oh, well, in dat case, MOVE IN BOYS!" He called to the outfield, who took a few steps towards the infield. Moira was insulted.

"Are you implying that I can't hit this ball?" She asked, in mock shock.

"You just told me you couldn't."

"That was different. It's not gentlemanly to agree with a woman when she puts herself down. Didn't you know?" 

"Nope." 

"Very well, I will just have to prove you wrong." She stepped up to the plate (a day-old newspaper, like all the other bases) and stopped. "Am I doing this right?" Jack laughed,

"Bend your knees more." She did, yet he was still unsatisfied. "No, you'se holdin' da bat all wrong." He came up and moved her hands. "There, dat's bettah." 

"You'se ready yet? For cryin' out loud! We ain't gettin' any youngah out here!" Racetrack yelled, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. 

"Shut up an' pitch, Race. Stop ya complainin'." Jack yelled back. Their pitcher obliged and threw the ball toward her. Moira made a pathetic attempt to swing the bat, only managing to scare both herself and Jack, who was standing behind home plate. 

"STRIKE ONE!" Les yelled, from where he stood on second base. Racetrack shook his head and threw the ball a second time. This time, Moira swung the bat so hard that it flew backward out of her hands, almost hitting Jack in the face.

"STRIKE TWO!" The shortstop, Bumlets called. 

"I give up. I can't do this!" Moira exclaimed, throwing up her hands. Jack picked up the bat and handed it back to her.

"You ain't done yet, ya still gots one more try."

"I'm pathetic."

"Yeah. C'mon. I'se gonna help ya." He stood behind her, placed his arms around her and his hands over hers, repositioning them on the bat. 

"Wh-what are you doing?" Moira asked, feeling the tips of her ears go pink. 

"You'se embarrassin' yaself. And me. I'se helpin' ya out." He informed her, grinning. "T'row da ball, Race!" 

And when the ball was thrown this time, something unbelievable happened. With Jack's help, she was actually able to hit the ball. Well, it only went a few feet past where Racetrack was standing, but it was enough to amaze her. Releasing the bat with a cry of astonishment, she turned to Jack,

"Now what?" She asked, her mind going blank. He laughed, then pointed to the first base. "Thanks, Jack!" She called, jogging over to where Mush was standing. 

* * * * * 

"I've decided baseball is not my forte." Moira concluded, ducking under a line of laundry that had been put out to dry. Jack laughed nervously,

"Yeah…"

"It means specialty, or strong point." She filled in, knowing he hadn't a clue what the word 'forte' meant. 

"Oh! Den no- I t'ink you'se right on dat one." They laughed again as she approached her door. A look at the time told her that Kathryn wasn't expected back for a few hours. 

"You can come in, if you like." She invited, pulled open the front door, and headed up to the apartment. Jack followed closely. Once inside, Moira found a small stack of letters on the table in the kitchen. Kathryn always separated the mail into two piles, one for herself and one for her daughter. Moira picked up her pile and shuffled through it. There was a letter from her cousin, Nell, and then two long, thin envelopes- one from Landbury, and one from Amburst. She had yet to hear from Sutherton, but these would be correspondence from the fifth and sixth schools she had interviewed with. And if these didn't turn out to be positive letters, that would be five and six schools that didn't want her as a teacher. She glanced at Jack,

"Go on, open it." He urged, nodding. With a shaking hand, Moira dug a nail under the seal and tore it open. "Read it."

"_Dear Miss Bailey, we regret to inform you that your services will not be needed at our school_…" Sighing, Moira tossed the first paper onto the table and ripped open the second letter without any ceremony. Jack watched, rather helplessly, as her eyes skimmed the page before she crumpled it into a ball and let it fall to the ground. She slumped into the nearest chair, tears in her eyes. "Damn." She whispered, blinking quickly to try to keep from crying. Jack knelt down, seeing eye-to-eye with her.

"Hey, Moira. It ain't dat bad. Really. I mean, who wants ta woik in dem snooty schools anyway?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I did! I wanted to work in a school like Amburst." She cried, forgetting about fighting the tears as they spilled over her cheeks. "I'm never going to find a job." 

"Don't say dat! You'll gets a job." He tried to reassure her, 

"But what if I don't?" 

"Den…you can start your own school. For da newsies." Moira didn't say anything as Jack wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "But don't ya worry about it. Dey's gonna hire ya. Mark me woids." 

"Why are you so confident?" She muttered into his shoulder. He let go and held her a elbow-length. 

"Because, sooner or later, someone's gonna sit up and notice whadda smaht, funny, honest, charmin', amazin' woman you are." This brought more tears to her eyes.

"Do you really believe all of that?" She asked, as he wiped away a stray tear, smudging her face with his dirty hands. Jack didn't say anything, but continued stroking Moira's cheek, long after the tear was gone. Heart pounding, Moira reached up and held his hand to her face, staring into Jack's eyes as he leaned forward. 

Closing her eyes, she met him halfway, stopping just before her lips touched his, feeling as though her heart would leap out of her chest in a moment. And then, after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Jack leaned forward just an inch more. 

It wasn't a long kiss, but filled with anything that either couldn't (or wouldn't) put into words. Moira pulled away after a few moments, unwillingly. She looked into his eyes again, trying to figure out what had just happened, but she found no answers as he smiled and touched her cheek once more.

"Yeah, Moira. I do." 


	17. Fine

Disclaimer: Whoo! Chapter seventeen! MREH! How glorious. Okay, we all know I own nothing, so why bother with the disclaimers? I don't know…there it was….

****

Chapter Seventeen

_May 16, 1900_

Dear Diary,

Kissing! Kissing! There was kissing between Jack and I. Jack! Kissing! If anyone has an answer about that, I'd be more than happy to hear about it. Unfortunately, I actually enjoyed it. I'd never been kissed like that before. Of course, I don't have a very prestigious kissing career. Lord, if Mother knew about this- she would have my head on a platter for dinner. My apologies, that was rather vulgar. 

David doesn't know about this. No one does. That is, of course, unless Jack opened his overly large mouth and told everyone in the LH. That would not surprise me. What surprises me is that I'm actually worried about whether David knows about it or not. I see no logical reason why I should care. We're not involved romantically in anyway. Of course, there was that comment Les made-about David liking me. I'm not certain how to feel about that. Gracious! I'm not certain how I feel about anything! Things were so much simpler when Sarah was here!

-Moira

Delaney glanced up from the diary at her computer screen, where an 'urgent' e-mail from Jeff was open, telling her about the orange chicken with lo mein they had at a Chinese restaurant down the street. Chinese food was one of Delaney's more powerful weaknesses. She rolled her eyes and turned them back to the diary. It was one of those instances where Moira's life took priority over hers. Chicken could wait. But Moira had kissed Jack! How exciting! 

However, this whole thing was turning into a sorted love-triangle. Well, kind of. David liked her, but she was starting to like Jack. The only way this would be a little bit more interesting would be if Jack started to like David. Delaney quickly shook the thought from her brain. 

Sarah's departure had rather shocked her, but she'd gotten over it after realizing that a) there was no point in worrying about someone who was more than likely dead, and b) Sarah had to leave in order for Jack to fall in love with Moira, free of guilt. 

"Are you reading that _again_?" Jeff's voice asked, dripping with disdain, from behind her. Del spun in her chair and eyed him. 

"You're obviously not working either. I have the proof, right here." She pointed to the screen. He did an eye squinchy,

"I was simply letting you know a good place to go if you want some really tasty food. You are eating, still, aren't you?" 

"Funny. You sound like Keaton." 

"How so?" Jeff grabbed a chair from a nearby cubicle and wheeled himself into Delaney's cube. 

"Oh, you know him."

"Over-protective?"

"Impossibly so. He keeps saying that I'm obsessing over this whole Moira diary thing. It's just…preposterous." 

"Preposterous?" Jeff raised an eyebrow, "A week ago you would have said 'crazy.' You're starting to talk like her."

"Whom?"

"Moira." 

"Don't be stupid. It's just intriguing." 

"Well, I know how much you love a good intrigue." 

"At least you understand me." They smiled at one another, best friends since high school. 

"So, what have I missed?" He asked, jumping right back into Moira's life.

"Sarah's gone." He gasped, Delaney continued. "She went to be a nanny for a widower in Illinois."

"But what about Jack?"

"He didn't go with her. Anyway, that's not even the most exciting part. Jack kissed Moira!" She exclaimed as Jeff's eyebrows furrowed.

"Intriguing." 

"I know! Isn't it?"

"But wait- what about David?"

"I'm not really sure. She said they don't see one another as much. One of those schedule things, I guess." She shrugged. "Here, read what you've missed. Don't go past May sixteenth." Jeff took the little black diary, thanked Delaney, and wheeled out on the office chair, back to his own cube. 

As soon as the diary was gone, Delaney missed it. She had grown rather attached to Moira and Jack, Racetrack, David and Les. It was fun to flip back through the entries she'd already read, seeing how everyone had grown and changed. Feeling stupid for missing a book, Delaney turned back to her computer and started working again. 

***

__

"Heavens to Betsy! It's hot in here!" Moira exclaimed, fanning herself with a piece of paper. She went around the bottom floor, pulling open all the windows. As she got around to the office windows, she realized that the only place it would be the least bit cool would be outside. A week after the 'incident' (as she was now calling her kiss with Jack) New York had been hit with a minor heat wave. Not nearly as bad as the one that had the city sweltering when she'd moved there, but enough to make things uncomfortable when one was stuck inside all day. She pinned her hair to the top of her head and rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt- the jacket had been discarded around ten that morning.

It looked lovely outside, though. The sun was shining; children were playing and laughing in the streets, birds chirping after returning from their yearly flight south. The few flowers that she could see from the LH were in full bloom, tilting their petals to soak up the sun. Moira, more than anything, wanted to out there, like the flowers, feeling the sun on her face, breathing in the scent of spring. Even in New York, you could still smell springtime, and feel that wonderful feeling of how marvelous it is to be alive. 

Of course, when one was stuck inside a place like the dingy-walled, dirty windowed lodging house, it was rather hard to feel that way. Moira took her seat behind the desk again, and grabbed Shakespeare, deciding to read As You Like It for the hundredth time. Opening up to Act One, she was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the door jingling and someone stepping into the foyer. 

"Hey there." A friendly, familiar voice greeted. Moira smiled and looked up,

"Hello David. How are you today?"

"Better than you, I have a feeling. It must be hard, being inside on a day like today." He sympathized, while Moira marveled at his ability to read her mind.

"It's dreadful!" She sighed, dramatically. 

"Are you hungry?" 

"Quite. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning." 

"Perfect." David told her, as she raised a puzzled eyebrow. "I have just the thing for you." He placed a basket on the counter. She smiled,

"What is this?" 

"Lunch. C'mon, it's not healthy to be cooped up inside on a day like this. We're going to the park." 

"Don't you have to work, though?" Moira asked, in spite of herself. David rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to go on this picnic, or would you rather stay here while I work?"

"No, I want to go."

"Then let's go." He offered her his arm, and off they went, to enjoy their afternoon in the park.

"But really," Moira began, after they sat down under a shady oak tree in Central Park, "don't you have to work?" 

"Not as much, since Sarah has been sending home some of her pay check every month, we've getting by without Les and I working so hard." He handed her a sandwich, which she gratefully took a bite of. 

"Do you miss her?" She asked, once she'd swallowed.

"Of course, she's my sister. But she says the man she's working for is very nice. And she likes the kids, so I'm not very worried." Moira smiled lazily and leaned back against the tree, 

"This is very nice. Thank you for doing this." 

"You looked like you needed a break." 

"I did." She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of flowers and sweet smelling grass, the food in front of her, and-if she concentrated hard enough- she was almost certain she could smell the sunshine. 

After a very enjoyable afternoon, the two packed up their picnic and began the trek back to the LH. On the way out of the park, Moira stopped for a second and plucked a daisy from the ground. She smiled, the flower seemed so happy; she almost wanted to talk to it. 

"Don't you love daisies?" She asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes. David only smiled again, took the flower from her hands and tucked it behind her right ear.

"Perfect." They laughed, shared the weight of the basket between them, and continued on home. 

From where he stood, Jack could see David take Moira's flower and put it in her hair. He watched, chewing on his tongue, as she laughed at something he said and then ruffled his curls with her hand. More laughter. As he watched them turn a corner and meander on their way, Jack felt an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt angry, but he wasn't really sure why. In any case, he didn't like it. He didn't like it almost as much as he hadn't liked stumbling upon such a touching moment between David and Moira. 

***

Later that evening, after dinner, when Kathryn headed out to see Theresa Beckman, Moira took a stroll across the street. Inside the lodging house, the boys were scattered all over the place, talking and laughing, drinking, smoking, playing cards. As if she would know them any other way. 

"Moira!" Race exclaimed, looking up from his cards. "Want me ta deal ya in?" He asked, pointing to the game. She smiled and shook her head.

"I'm not playing with you until I have something to bet with." 

"Suit yaself." He shrugged good-naturedly. 

"Actually, I'm looking for Jack. Have you seen him?"

"Cowboy? Yeah, he's up on da roof. But I wouldn't go up dere if I was yous." Racetrack warned, shaking his head. "He's in a lousy mood. Wouldn't even talk ta nobody since he gots in. He just takes his cigs and up he goes, to da roof." Moira's eyebrows furrowed.

"Hmm. Well, I'm just going to say hello. I haven't seen him all day." 

"Yeah, maybe you can cheer him up. It's woith a try, at least." She nodded, took off with a wave and bounded up the steps to the roof. 

She had expected to see Jack sitting on the edge, where he usually was. But he wasn't, he was pacing in circles. He looked rather strange, because he'd stop for a second, and go to sit, but then get up and pace again. As she opened the door, it squeaked, and he stopped and looked up.

"Oh." His face revealed no expression. 

"Hello Jack." She greeted, uncertainly. Silence. "How was your day?"

"Great." The statement was dripping with sarcasm. 

"Is something wrong?" She ventured, very confused. 

"What's going on with you and David?" He asked, suddenly.

"I don't know why you would care."

"You two seemed pretty cozy at da park taday." 

"Jack, this isn't any of your business. If I want to talk to you about it, that's my choice, not yours." She told him, firmly, though very confused as to why he was acting this way. 

"Are you seein' him now?" 

"What on Earth are you talking about? I see him all the time. Everyday. I see you too, and Race, and Mush…Jack, what is the point?!" Moira exclaimed, exasperated. 

"I just wanna know where I stands wid you." 

"Where you stand? What in the world! I don't understand what you mean by any of this standing and seeing nonsense, but I think you're over-reacting over nothing."

"Is dat whad you t'ink?"

"Yes, that's what I think."

"Well fine, den."

"FINE!" She shouted, standing on her tiptoes.

"FINE!" He yelled back. 

"Fine!" Moira shook her head and started toward the door. 

"Fine!" 

"Fine!" She shouted one more time before slamming the door and bolting downstairs and shaking the house as she slammed the front door as well. All noise in the house ceased. 

"I guess dat didn't go all dat well. Huh?" Racetrack wondered aloud. Several nearby newsies nodded in agreement. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Eeep, things are getting a little tense around the LH. What's that about? Jack's jealous, David's oblivious, and Racetrack just keeps playing poker. I like that about Race. Mountains may crumble, clouds fall out of the sky, but Race will always be ready to play poker. Something you can count on. Anyway, review your hearts out while I figure out how to word Chapter 18. (Oh, and by the way, thanks again to my best buddy Jeffy, for his permission to have another cameo appearance.) 


	18. I Should Tell You

Disclaimer: Okay, we're nearing the end of the road here, folks. I know, the story is kind of anti-climactic, but you all seem to like it. So good. I own nothing but Moira. And Jeff (if he appears again, I'm not sure) he owns himself. So, enjoy, because like all good things in life, this shall be over much too soon. 

****

Chapter Eighteen

The rest of May passed in awkward silences between Moira and Jack, conversations had been substituted with nods and one-word answers. It was driving everyone else insane. 

"Can't ya jus' say you're sorry or sumtin'? Dis is crazy!" Mush exclaimed, one bright late afternoon in the first week of June. Moira glanced up from her sketchbook. The sixteen-year-old boy was breaking her concentration while she tried to draw a bouquet of wildflowers Les had picked for her. 

"If I had anything to apologize for, I would do it in an instant, but I have nothing. Therefore I refuse to apologize." 

"Ahh. Ya jus' as stubborn as Jack." He grimaced, throwing up his hands. Moira shrugged, indifferently. She decided to save the flowers for another day, left the sketchbook on the counter and grabbed her hat. "Where ya goin'?" Mush asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Home. I'd like to be out of here before Jack gets back, if you don't mind." She told him brusquely, going around him and out the door. 

Kathryn was nowhere in sight, again, when Moira got home. She sat down at the table, removed the deck of cards from her purse, and dealt herself a hand of solitaire. She couldn't play poker to save her life, but solitaire had never been a problem for her- and it was an easy way to pass the time. And pass the time it did. Moira realized she had absent-mindedly played three or four games before there was an abrupt knock at the door. Figuring her mother had just forgotten her key again, she got up and pulled it open, greatly surprised at who she saw standing behind it.

"Oh, hello Jack." She greeted, apprehensively. 

"Hey. Can I come in, or is your mudda here?"

"No, you can come in." She held open the door as he stepped inside. She didn't want to admit it, but she was very glad he had come over. "Is everything okay?"

"Naw, Moira. Everyt'ing's all messed up." Jack told her, his head down. She sighed. 

"Let's sit." They sat. 

"Moira, what's goin' on wid you?" He asked, almost immediately. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, in da last few weeks ya hardly said a woid ta me. And what's goin' on wid you and David?" 

"You have a right to talk! One minute you kiss me and the next your hardly speaking to me because I went on a picnic with my best friend! I have just as much to be upset about as you do." She told him, indignantly. 

"Okay, okay, I'se an idiot." 

"Yes, you are." 

"But, I'se sorry, Moira. I just…I dunno." He stumbled over his words, fiddling with his hands. She smiled and reached for one of them,

"Are you apologizing to me?" He nodded. "Then apology accepted. Let's just put all of this idiocy aside, all right?" 

"Dat sounds great." He smiled at her and held both of her hands. They were quiet for a minute before shook his head, "I dunno what you're doin' ta me, goil." 

"Well, we don't always have to know how we feel, right?" She asked, wondering if it was such a bad thing, to be holding hands with a man that you cared about, in your kitchen, when no one was home. She could even kiss him again if she wanted to. In fact, she _did _want to. Moira leaned forward, across the table. Jack caught on to what she was doing, grinned, and went to meet her halfway. Just as their lips brushed one another's, the door flew open and Kathryn announced her presence,

"Moira darling! What are you doing home so early?" She asked, noticing her daughter only moments after the two in the kitchen had sprung apart, looking as though they wanted nothing to do with each other. 

"Well, I got all of my work finished, so Jack walked me home, and we were just sitting…and talking." She lied quickly, glancing at Jack for support. He nodded.

"Yeah, and I'se just gonna go-" 

"Wait a minute, Mr. Kelly. I'd like to have a word with you." Kathryn requested, eyeing him like one would eye an insect they were afraid of. She looked ready to squash Jack with the sole of her Italian leather shoe. "Moira, if you'll excuse us." She dismissed her daughter, who looked apologetically at Jack, mouthing the words 'I'm sorry' as she went down the hall to her room. Once she was sure Moira was out of earshot, Kathryn smiled graciously and sat down at the table, across from Jack. He wanted to die. 

"Is dere sumtin I can help ya wid, Mrs. Bailey?" He asked, trying to break the ice and get out of there as soon as possible. 

"I want to discuss your intentions when it comes to my daughter." She began, staring directly at him. "You may not realize it, but I know exactly what is going on here."

"You do?" He asked, quite amazed, seeing as he hardly had a clue as to how he felt about Moira.

"It's quite apparent that you have feelings for Moira and that she," Kathryn paused for a minute, fighting off a cringe, "is not exactly discouraging these notions. Am I correct?" Jack opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't have a chance. 

"I had a feeling I was". 

But I would like to tell you something, Mr. Kelly; Moira is a bright girl, with a bright future ahead of her. Surely you know by now that she wants to be a teacher. I can't understand why, but she does. If she's going to achieve the goals she has set for herself, there mustn't be any distractions. And there must be _no _chance of her getting into any sort of…_trouble. _And I believe you know of which trouble I speak, Mr. Kelly." Again, she eyed him cautiously, but this time he remained silent, absorbing what she was saying. "Certainly, you didn't think that this little infatuation would amount to anything, did you? It doesn't take a genius to see the immense difference between my daughter and yourself. By background alone, the disparity between the two of you is as vast as the ocean." She reached out and patted his arm. "You seem like a nice boy, Mr. Kelly. But that's no longer what my daughter needs. She needs a nice man. Someone to take care of her, you understand." Kathryn stood from the table. 

A dejected Jack stood up as well, wanting to run out of there as fast as his legs would carry him-away from this conversation, from this woman, away from hearing about how he wasn't good enough for Moira, when it was so obvious that Moira didn't feel that way at all. "Can I…uh…say goodbye foist?" He asked, afraid to meet Mrs. Bailey's eyes.

"I'll give her the message. You should probably be on your way. I'm sure there are papers that need selling somewhere." She pushed him lightly out of the apartment and closed the door. 

"Manhattan don't sell da evenin' edition." He muttered to the door, wanting to punch a hole in it. Instead, he turned quickly and thundered down the stairs, out the door, and across the street. 

Jack didn't say anything to anyone as he entered the LH, but grabbed a cigarette and went up to his brooding spot- the roof. 

This time, the roof was already occupied. By Kid Blink, who was sitting in his spot, hanging his feet over the side. Jack decided not to take offense to this, and sat down next to him. 

"Gotta light?" He asked, the cigarette in his mouth, begging to be lit. Blink struck a match on the pavement and lit his friend's addiction. "Thanks." 

"So wad happened ova at Moira's? She throws you out?" Blink asked, after a few minutes. 

"Nope. Her mudda came home." 

"What happened?"

"Ya wouldn't believe wad she told me. Says I ain't good enough for her dawta. Can you belie' dat?" Jack shook his head, still very upset.

"Well whaddya expect, Jack? I mean, you knows dat Moira don't belong wid guys like us. I mean, classy goil like her? Wid one a' us? Nevah in a million years. Mark me woids. Davey-maybe. But he's different. Dey likes da same t'ings, Moira and Davey. But you…eh, I just can't see it woikin' out. Ya know?" Jack suddenly got the strong urge to push Kid Blink off the roof. Or blind his other eye with the end of his burning cigarette. But still, he kept talking. "I mean, whaddya t'ink, her mudda was gonna be happy about everyt'ing?" He laughed, "c'mon Jacky-boy. You ain't dat dumb." 

"Look, I didn't say I t'ought she was gonna be happy. But I didn't t'ink she'd tell me I was nuthin' eidah." 

"And why was you ova dere in de foist place?" Blink asked, barely paying attention to Jack's last statement.

"I'se just…talkin' to her. Den her mudda came in and messed everyt'ing up." 

"I don't see why you'se so upset. She's just a goil."

"No, she ain't just a goil." He grumbled, angrily. His companion looked at him, in shock.

"Whaddya sayin', Jacky-boy?" 

"I'm just sayin' dat she…ain't like all dem otha goils I seen. Ya know." Jack covered up before puffing on his cigarette. 

"Tell me I'm hearin' t'ings. Cowboy's fallin' in love wid Moira Bailey?" Kid Blink asked, incredulously. 

"NO! I ain't fallin' in love wid nobody. Shut up, Blink. Ya don't know what ya talkin' about." He recoiled, in shock. 

"Yeah, well, if ya don't wanna end up hahtbroken, you'se gonna keep it dat way. 'Cause you gots a snowball's chance in hell wid a goil like Moira." His cigarette was gone. He flicked it away before he got to his feet and patted Jack on the shoulder. "Why doncha leave her for Davey. Dey's meant for each otha." 

Jack glowered as Blink went inside. He stared across the street, where the windows of Moira's apartment were open. Voices floated across the street to greet his ears, but he was too far away to hear what they had said. He scowled as he remembered the sound of Kathryn's voice: _She needs a nice man…not a nice boy. _

Glaring across the street, Jack finished his cigarette and sat in silence for a very long time. Things weren't working out quite like he had planned.

"What did you say to him?" Moira implored furiously, when she'd found out that her mother had sent Jack away. 

"I simply told him what he _had _to hear. Calm down, Moira, I did it for your own good." 

"ENOUGH WITH MY OWN GOOD! I am eighteen years old, Mother! I can decide what is best for me!"

"Moira Elizabeth Bailey, that is quite enough. You may be eighteen, but as long as you are still living with me, I have the final say in what is best for you. And if I might add, no daughter of mine is going to run off with a filthy _newsboy. _Not while I'm around." Moira let out a sound of frustration,

"No one is getting MARRIED! I enjoy his company, that's why I spend time with him. How could you just sent him away like some sort of stray dog? What did you say?"

"I told him that he was beneath you." Kathryn said, in a cutting voice. Moira's mouth hung open, in utter amazement. "Well? Aren't you going to degrade me for telling the truth, shattering whatever plans that sordid boy had for you?"

"I just…can't believe you would do that." Tears formed in her eyes. "He may not be up to your standards, Mother, but he's still a person." Kathryn sighed, 

"I can't, for the life of me, understand why you're so attracted _people _like that." 

"He's my _friend. _He cares about me. Don't you see that I _need _friends? Isn't that what is best for me?" 

"It's friends like those that you could do without. There are plenty of lovely girls your age around the city who would graciously welcome you into their circles." Moira wiped her eyes and shook her head.

"I sometimes wonder if you care about me at all, Mother."

"Don't get dramatic, Moira darling, of course I care about you." She said, in such a passing voice that Moira wished she had slapped her instead. And for a moment, she no longer cared what Kathryn, or anyone else, for that matter, thought. 

"Do you know what I was about to do before you came in?" She asked, wanting very much to see the look on her mother's face. "I was about to kiss him." Kathryn looked horrified, then disgusted. 

"Oh, Moira." She grumbled, obviously displeased.

"Yes, Mother. And it would not have been the first time, either!" She added, triumphantly, before turning on her heel, stalking back to her room and slamming and locking the door. Her night was not going all that well either. 

*** 

"So, uh, Jack," Racetrack began, the next morning as they stood in line for their papes. 

"What?" A surly Cowboy snapped, jaw set, arms crossed in front of him.

"Uh- Blink, he told me 'bout whad happened at Moira's." The Italian paused for a second, before deciding he might as well continue. "Maybe it's for da best, Jack. I mean, you and Moira…just don't make sense, ya know?" Jack only raised an eyebrow and slammed his coin on the counter,

"Hundred." He huffed, grabbing the papers; he walked down the plywood ramp with Racetrack close behind.

"Don't be gettin' mad at me, Jacky-boy." He warned, holding up his free hand in surrender. "I'se just sayin' dat she might be happier wid someone who…at least likes da same stuff dat she does. Someone like-"

"David?" Jack finished, bitterly, suddenly wanting to curl up and die. 

"Exactly. See? I'se jus' lookin' out for ya." Racetrack patted his shoulder, before going off to seek out a Sheepshead-bound carriage.

Jack sighed and shook his head and flipped through the paper, looking for a decent headline to yell through the streets of New York City. Who was he kidding? He and Moira didn't make sense together. Race and Blink were right, so was Kathryn, as much as he hated to admit it. If any of the newsies were Moira's 'match' it was David, not him. He'd just been fooling himself.

So when Moira asked to talk to him up on the roof when he got back to the LH around three, it was with a heavy heart that he went, knowing that she was going to tell him the exact thing he'd been hearing all day.

"So, what's up, Moira?" He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. She chewed her lip and looked at the ground,

"I wanted to tell you something. But please, just let me finish before you say anything, because you'll interrupt me and I'll lose my nerve and I'll start babbling…Oh, Lord, I'm already doing that." She paused for a minute, took a deep breath, and started again. "I know that we got off to a rather bad start. I mean, for heaven's sake, my hair's only just grown all the way back." Jack smiled slightly, wondering what she was doing. "But, over the last couple of months, I-I've realized what a…w-w-wonderful person that you are."

"Moira…."

"No. Let me finish. What I'm trying to say is that…well…I think I'm starting to fall in love with you." She rushed out, marveling that she didn't explode before she got all of that out.

Jack was shocked. Love? She was in love with _him? _Not David? But what about security and protection? She couldn't love him- he wasn't the one for her, despite how they both felt. He shook his head. He couldn't let her do this to herself. Everyone was right. She didn't need him, even if she thought she did. 

"I- uh- can't let ya do dat, Moira." He cleared his throat, feeling awful. She gave him a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…we ain't right togethah. You'se a classy goil who needs someone ta take care a' ya. I'se just a nobody. You can do bettah dan me."

"I don't understand…."

"It's just da way t'ings woik, Moira. I ain't your match. Davey is." He told her, with finality. 

"What if I don't want my match?" 

"Don't be stupid, Moira. I ain't what's good for you."

"I don't want what's good for me! I want you!" She exclaimed, more hurt than angry. "I just want you." 

Jack said nothing as she shook her head, tears welling up again, turned away from him and trudged slowly, back down to the ground level, and out onto the street. Leaving Jack up on the roof, feeling like the worst person in the world. 

Moira didn't realize where she going until she looked up and saw David's apartment building in front of her. She looked at her watch, which told her she had two hours to be cheerful again before her interview. It had taken almost three months, but Moira had finally managed to schedule an interview with her last school, Adamsworth. So far, things were not looking up. 

"David will cheer me up." She told herself, hearing his voice from the open window. He was talking to Les. She climbed the stairs slowly, fighting off tears. When he opened the door, David was shocked to find her in such a state.

"What happened?" He asked, letting her in. She shook her head. She couldn't tell David about what had happened with Jack. It wouldn't be fair.

"I-I just had a bad day." She told him, which was very true-Jack shrugging her off definitely counted as a bad day to her. David nodded and quickly pulled her into a hug. 

"I'm sorry." He said, as she felt more tears come to her eyes. 

"Don't say that, it's not your fault." 

"I know, but I hate to see you cry." 

"It's still not your fault. I don't know what I'm doing here- you don't want to listen to my problems."

"Well, actually, I'm glad you're here. There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about." Just then, Les appeared from the fire escape, where he'd been shouting to someone.

"I'm gonna go play with Joey." He told David, running out the door past both of them. His brother shook his head and closed the door. 

"What were you saying?" She asked, as they sat down on the Jacob's worn sofa. 

"Moira, I love you." He said, quite abruptly. She smiled,

"I know, David. I love you too." They told one another they loved each other all the time. The way friends do. 

"No, Moira. I mean…I _love _you." Moira was certain her heart had stopped beating as David took her shaking hands in his. "The way Romeo loved Juliet. Or how Browning loved Elizabeth." She blinked away tears. Of all days. The irony was killing her. 

"I-I-"

"No, you don't have to say it back. Just know that I love you, and that I have loved you from the first day I met you."

"You can't love me, David."

"Why not?"

"Because I am a vast, colossal, emotional mess." She told him, hollowly, looking at the ground.

"I don't care about that. I love you, and that's not going to change." She began to cry, miserably. "Why are you crying?" He asked, concerned.

"Because I can't love you as much as you love me!" She cried, covering her face with her hands. David looked like he had been punched in the stomach. "I'm sorry." She murmured, through her hands. "Please don't hate me." He looked away.

"I couldn't hate you, Moira." She pulled her hands away from her face,

"I have an interview at six-o-clock. I-I have to go home and get ready for it." Moira choked out, getting awkwardly to her feet. David said nothing as she walked slowly to the door. When she got there, she turned around, "You know, I do love you, David." She told him, softly.

"I know. Just not enough." A new wave of tears glazed over Moira's eyes and crashed down her cheeks as she closed the door softly and made her way slowly home.

***

The Headmaster of Adamsworth Private School glanced over her resume and smiled. 

"Well, Miss Bailey, your background and education certainly seem to speak for themselves. But we're looking at more than just an application, here." He said, pressing the tips of his fingers together at the end of the interview. A greatly distracted Moira looked up from her hands and blinked a few times, trying to think of a reason to be there. 

"You are?" She asked, in a daze. 

"Yes. What do you think you would bring to our school, if we were to hire you?" Moira stayed quiet for a long time. She was suddenly filled with a feeling of being lost. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to bring anything to that school. She wanted to be back in the museum, being led by Jack. She wanted to be his artist again. She still wanted to teach, it was her dream, but at that moment, she would have given anything to be back with Jack in the Met. Back before all of this craziness with love started. "Miss Bailey?" The Headmaster brought her back to reality. Moira was beginning to hate reality.

"I like to draw pictures." She told him, in a voice that sounded so unlike her own. 

"I'm sorry?" He asked, confused.

"Pictures. I like to draw pictures." 

"Right. Well, you'll be hearing from us, Miss Bailey. Thank you for your time." He told her briskly, handing back her portfolio. That was obviously not the answer he was looking for. Moira collected her things and left the school, not caring, at the moment, about anything that happened to her. 

It wasn't until she got into her carriage and was on her way home that the full weight of the day hit her. Jack had rejected her. She had broken David-her best friend's- heart. And now, she had blown her last chance for a job in New York. She was a waste of a human being- even her father would be disappointed in her- Moira was sure of this. She hugged herself tightly and began to sob, bitterly. 

"You goin' ta be okay, miss?" The driver asked, concerned as he pulled up to the apartment. 

"How much do I owe you?" She asked, digging through her change purse.

"No, miss, it's not a problem." He told her, giving her a smile that revealed a few missing teeth. She nodded, wiping away her tears. "Why don't you go in and get some rest- t'ings'll look bettah in de mornin'. You'll see." 

"Thank you." She muttered, before he tipped his top hat and drove away. Sleep. It felt like forever since she had slept. She climbed the stairs, dragged herself through the empty apartment, changed into her nightgown and fell into bed. And she stayed there for ten days. 

***

"MOIRA! I demand that you get out of this bed!" Kathryn exclaimed on the fifth day.

"No!" She shouted, from under the covers. 

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm sick. Deathly ill." 

"If you're sick, I'll just have to call the doctor."

"Do what you must, woman. But know only that no medicine will cure this disease that has manifested itself in my very soul." Moira exclaimed, dramatically. She had no wish to get out of bed. If she did, she would have to face Jack, and David, and the prospect of not having a job-or a future for that matter. But in bed, she could pretend, for at least a little while, that none of those problems existed. 

"You're impossible." Her mother exclaimed, throwing up her lovely hands. Moira rolled over in bed and fell back asleep. 

"Moira, please. I'm sure it's been at least five days since you've bathed." Her mother tried, a few days later, after the doctor had examined her and found nothing wrong. 

"It's been eight." She muttered, not caring if she smelled. She didn't _think _she smelled, but she wasn't sure. 

"I don't know what you're trying to prove by doing this."

"I'm sick. I wouldn't get too close to me. You may also catch this dreaded disease."

"And what disease do you claim to have?" She heard her mother ask, sarcastically.

"I am my own disease. I affect all of those near and dear to me." 

"Stop babbling nonsense. Those filthy boys have come calling on you almost everyday. At least tell me what I'm supposed to say to them." 

Moira thought about this. "Tell them that I am very sick. And that I don't want to see them because I don't want to ruin their lives the way I've ruined mine." 

"Oh, well now you're just being ridiculous." Kathryn left it at that and swept out of the room, exasperated.

On the eleventh day, Kathryn walked into the room, with a last-ditch attempt. "You've got a bit of mail. Why don't you come out and get it?" She asked in a sugar sweet voice. Moira stuck a hand out from under the blankets.

"Bring it to me." Her mother sighed and handed the two letters that had come for her. She pushed the blankets off of her head. Kathryn smiled a little bit, it was the first time she'd seen her daughter's face in several days. Moira tore open the first letter, from a place called Sumter-Heights Preparatory School, in Portland, Maine. 

_Dear Miss Bailey,_

_We, at Sumter-Heights wish to extend an invitation for you to join our staff as the newest teacher of our faculty. We received you application and list of credentials by mail, as well as a glowing letter of recommendation by Elizabeth Sutherton, the headmistress of our sister-school. She regrets not hiring you herself, but has assured us of your shining character. We sincerely hope you will accept our offer and join our staff. We look forward to hearing from you. _

_Sincerely, _

_Edward B. Sumter. Headmaster. _

Moira put down the letter, in shock. The second letter was a rejection from Adamsworth- it barely phased her. She reread the Sumter-Heights letter. Elizabeth had done this for her, she knew it. And at that moment, she knew exactly what she had to do. 

There was nothing to stay for anymore. 


	19. Living in Your Letters

Disclaimers: Okay, we're not done yet, folks. I've still got a few more chapters left. *tear* My baby's almost all grown up. Okay, disclaimers- own nothing except Moira, Kathryn, and…anyone else that you don't recognize.

**Chapter Nineteen**

Two days after she had written back to Sumter-Heights, Moira found herself a carriage headed out to the track. Once she got there, it didn't take her long at all to find Racetrack, explain the whole situation, and beg one last favor off of him. He reluctantly agreed.

"So you'se sure ya wanna do dis?" He asked, scratching his head while they waited for the train a few days later. She nodded.

"What do I have to stay for?" 

"I dunno. You could…try and find anodda job. Here, closa ta us." 

"No, no. This is best." She looked at him, smiling sadly. "I will miss it though."

"Miss what? Da LH, yellin' at us ta clean up, smellin' smoke everyday?" He laughed, "Ya won't miss dat, Moira."

"Maybe not that, but I'll miss you. And all the other newsies, your stories and card games, the laughs. I'll miss Jack, and David." Her eyes welled up again, and she fanned them, trying not to cry. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle blew. 

"'Ey, no mattah wad nobody says, you'se always gonna be da woman in my life." She laughed, 

"I doubt that, sir. What about that girl you've been spending so much time with lately, what's her name…Tanya? What about her? I'm sure she wouldn't be too pleased if she heard you telling me such things." A blush crept over the young Italian's face,

"Yeah, and how does you know about Tanya?" She thought about it for a minute, remembered something her grandfather had said once, and grinned,

"I have my magic ways." He smiled at her again, shaking his head

"You'll do good in Maine. Dey'll love ya." The subject grew grim again. 

"Do you really think so?"

"Oh yeah, of course dey will. We all do." They looked at one another, sadly for a moment before Moira reached into her purse and pulled out three letters. 

"Can you make sure these get where they need to be?" She asked, handing them to Racetrack. He nodded and looked at what the envelopes read: _Jack. David. Newsies. _ Each bore a different name. 

"Oh, I gots sumtin' for you too." He dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of dice and a wad of folded papers. He put the dice back and presented the wad to her. Confused, she unfolded them. 

"My Inheritance, my first born child, my grandmother's string of pearls, my mother… Race, what is all this?" She asked, flipping through the dozens of paper with her writing on it. 

"It's everyt'ing dat you owes me." She gave him a puzzled smile. "I figgerd it wouldn't be right ta cash in on dese, when you'se given us all so much already." He gave her a lopsided smile. Now Moira did start to cry, Racetrack would be one that she would miss most of all. He gave her a hug. "'Ey, wad I tell ya about gettin' all soft on me? Stay strong." He tapped her chin. "Chin up, soldiah." The train, pulled up, making quite a bit of noise as it did so. Race loaded her bags into the cargo area, and gave her one last hug. "T'ings'll woik out, Moira. Dey always do." He told her, helping her up onto the step.

He watched her move through the train and find a seat. She pressed her hand against the window, smiling sadly, and Race could tell she was trying not to cry again. He waved back, and before he knew it, the train had begun to move out of the station, picking up speed as it did so, and soon, it was gone. Racetrack watched as it faded out of view, stood alone for a minute, and turned to head back to town.

***

David, beginning to worry about Moira's heath, climbed the apartment stairs once again and knocked on the door. An oddly subdued Kathryn opened the door. For once, she didn't look disgusted or repulsed that he had knocked on her door as she usually did when one of the newsies stopped by to see how Moira was feeling. Instead, her face was pale, and she looked at him nervously.

"Is Moira here?" He asked, worried.

"No." She answered, softly. "She's not here."

"Then she's feeling better?"

"I-I don't know."

"Has she gone back to work?"

"She's not here. Good day, Mr. Jacobs." Kathryn told him shortly, and closed the door in his face.

Surprised, and a little confused, David turned and went back downstairs, out the door, and across the street to the LH. 

"Moira?" He called, upon entering. His voice echoed off the thin walls, but he heard nothing in return except his footsteps as he made his way around the bottom floor. Going into the office, he found the desk to be empty except for two things. The large, brown sketchbook she'd been given for Christmas, and an envelope with his name on it. He recognized Moira's handwriting immediately, picked it up, and tore it open, knowing in the pit of his stomach, that he would not like what it had to say. 

Later that evening, once all of the newsies had gathered back at the LH, Racetrack stood up on one of the broken chairs, feeling the busted springs with his bare feet. "Guys!" He yelled, trying to get everyone's attention. They quieted down after a few minutes. 

"Whaddya want, Racetrack?" Mush asked, annoyed that his story had been interrupted.

"Shut up, Mush. I gots sumpin ta say. So everybody hush a minute." He removed the only remaining envelope from his pocket, after having sent Cowboy up to the roof to read his own letter, tore open the top, and unfolded the piece of paper. 

"_Dear residents of the Lodging House, Newsies, my best friends,_

_I'm sorry I to tell you that I am leaving. In fact, by the time you hear this letter, I will be far away. I wish I could have said goodbye to all of you in person, but I hope you understand. And although I will miss you everyday I am gone, I hope you do not waste so much energy on me. There are, however, some things I want to tell you. _

_First of all, thank you. You welcomed me into your lives quite graciously, giving me a sense of belonging, and most of all, a sense of family that my own family could not give me. For that, I thank you. I hope that life is kind of you, and I wish you all of the following things:_

_Above all things, I wish the very best for each of you, education, family, friends, and happiness. I want you all to have every speck of happiness you can imagine, wherever you may find it. I wish for your days to be filled with sunshine in the summer and warm fires in the winter. _

_Love. I hope that love finds all of you. Maybe it has for some of you, and that's the most wonderful thing in the world. I want you all to love to the ends of your fingers, until you feel like your soul will burst. And take care of that love. NEVER GIVE UP ON LOVE. If you take nothing else from me, remember that. _

God. I have always believed in God. Perhaps it's because my beliefs have never been challenged, although yours may have been. I suppose it doesn't matter if God exists or not, what I want for you is to have something to believe in. Something to wrap around yourself when it's too cold. Something to fall back on. 

There is no way I can possibly thank you for all that you have done for me. Wherever I go, whatever I do, the memories I shall cherish the most will be those that I made here in the House, laughing with you, playing cards, or even sitting in the office, listening to the sounds of life in the other room. I will miss you dearly, and I love you all,

Moira." 

Racetrack put the two-page letter back into its envelope and got down from the chair. The room was silent. Most everyone was looking at the ground. Not all of them had understood what Moira had said, but they knew she was gone, and that's what mattered. 

__

"She's really gone, Race?" Les asked, wiping tears from his ten-year-old eyes. Race nodded sadly, patting his shoulder, 

__

"Yeah, kid. She's really gone." With that, he left the house to clear his head.

***

From where he had been pacing, sounding out words of Moira's letter, and taking in their meaning, Jack watched Racetrack hurry out of the house and down the street, on his way to the theatre, where he spent many of his evenings lately. He folded up his letter and stuffed it in the envelope. Moira was gone, and he was to blame. Almost. That damn job in Maine hadn't helped much either, but mostly, she was gone because of him. The thought of this made his blood want to boil.

He couldn't stay up there. The roof had always been his 'thoughtful spot.' For as long as he could remember, Jack had been going up to the roof whenever he needed to think, or smoke, or just be alone. But now, it was filled with memories he no longer wanted to visit with: the night after Kloppman's funeral, when he had made peace with Moira. Christmas, watching God paint the sunset. The night Sarah had told him she was leaving. And more recently, when Moira had offered her delicate little heart to him, and he had broken it into a thousand pieces. No, if he stayed on this roof a minute longer, he would begin to think about throwing himself off. 

The sun was going down as Jack wandered around Manhattan, aimlessly. He felt like he should have been surprised where he ended up, Horace Greeley Square. But he wasn't. If he wasn't on the roof, he was milling around this damn square. Jack sighed. He needed some new haunts, but at least here, he wasn't bombarded with painful memories. 

He perched himself on one of the granite corners of the statue, took out his letter, and read over it again. 

_Dear Jack,_

_I wonder if telling you this way is the right thing to do, but I am going to make the assumption that we are still friends, and I would not leave a friend without an explanation. I'm going away. I've been offered a job in Maine, and I am going to take it, owing to the fact that I feel my presence is no longer needed in the lodging house, or in New York, for that matter. I hope you understand._

_There is also something that I wanted to tell you. You were absolutely right. You're all wrong for me, and I know this. David is my match, my soul mate. It's been obvious since the first day I met him. He's perfect- smart, handsome, refined…everything I've ever wanted. But, in case you haven't noticed, people never want what is good for them. And I am certainly no exception. I want you, Jack Kelly. You are the only thing that I can see as being good for me, and no distance, nor time, can change that. I read somewhere that you can't help who you fall in love with. I had the luck to fall in love with you. I know you may not feel the same, but I thought you should know._

I have thanked nearly everyone I have met since moving to New York, and now it is time to thank you. Thank you for shorter hair, for cigarettes, for thousands of drawings, and thousands of hugs. Thank you for snowball fights in the winter, and for baseball in the spring. Thank you for teaching me how to live again. And above all, Jack Kelly, thank you for teaching me how to love. You will be greatly missed,

Yours,

Moira

Jack shook his head, and looked up, surprised at who was standing in front of him. He set his feet on the ground,

"Heya Davey." He greeted, trying to put on a good face. David, who looked like a bull, ready to charge, didn't say anything. "Sumtin wrong?" Jack asked, starting to get a little edgy. He'd never seen David look like this. 

Before any more words were exchanged, David drew back a fist and let it fly into Jack's right cheekbone. The surprise, more than the force, knocked the cowboy over, holding his cheek in shock. 

"Wha was dat for?" He cried staggering to his feet, only to have the other side of his face assailed by David's fist again. He didn't fall over this time, just staggered back a few feet. 

"What did you do?" He attacker asked, holding up an envelope, quite similar to Jack's. Now his opponent was getting mad.

"Nuttin! I didn't do nuttin. I ain't da one dat chased her away if dat's what you'se askin." 

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking. What did you do? Is that why she was so upset when she came to my apartment?" He asked, pushing Jack squarely in the shoulders- reeling with pent up aggression. 

"When did she go ta your apahtment?" Jack asked, pushing David back, not being one to 'use his words' instead of fighting. 

"The day you decided to break her heart!" That did it. Both men lunged at one another, punching and holding and tackling, each trying to get the upper hand. It was actually a fair fight. Jack was a more experienced fighter, but David, reeling with emotion for all of the times he had _wanted _to punch Jack, was not giving him an inch.

They rolled around on the ground on the square, each punching the other senselessly for a bit, until somehow, David ended up pinned against the plaque on the side of the statue. Out of breath, and exhausted, he held up his hands.

"Enough! Enough." Without must hesitation, Jack let him go, and they slumped against the statue. "What are we fighting about?" He asked, realizing how stupid he had been, starting a fight with Jack. He lip was already starting to swell. 

"I dunno. You stahted it." 

"Fine. Let me finish it then." They shook hands. David ran a finger along his forehead, where a cut had started to bleed. "I've never been in a fight before." He admitted, almost out of nowhere. Jack looked at him and laughed,

"Ya didn't do too bad." They laughed for a minute, and then grew quiet again. "So, Moira's gone." 

"Yes, she is." 

"Dija love her?" Jack asked, wondering if he had been right.

"Yes, I did." David thought for a minute, and decided he too had to test his hypothesis. "Did you?" 

"Yeah- I t'ink so."

"Did…uh…she love you back?" He asked tentatively, although he already knew the answer.

"Uh…well…."

"I thought so." They were quiet again. Jack turned and ran his hands over the plaque. 

"Go West Young Man." He said aloud to himself, David didn't hear him.

"Did I tell you that Pop went back to work?" He asked, tenderly touching the bones around his left eye.

"No, ya didn't. Tell him I said congrats." There was another awkward silence. 

"Jack, what are we doing here?" David asked, finally.

"Sittin." 

"Yeah, sitting. And that's it. Do you even want to be here anymore?" Jack thought about it. He did want to be in New York, but New York reminded him of Moira, and if Moira wasn't there, he didn't really want to be there either.

"Nah, not really. You?"

"I don't know. Where would we go?" David wondered aloud, trying to think of a place they could go. Jack looked at the plaque again. Go West Young Man.

"What about…Santa Fe?" 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, next comes one of the last chapters. I'm getting really depressed. But fear not! I'll try not to keep you dangling too long. Oh, and 'Tanya' (the girl in context as "Race's girl" belongs to Legs. I just wanted to give one of my homegirls a little props. (oh wow- I'm so upper middle class suburbia!) Of course she has no use for our gal Moira in her story because she paired Jack up with SARAH! *sigh* the agony! Haha. Okay, onto chapter 20… 


	20. Going somewhere

Disclaimers: After all this, I STILL don't own those sexy newsboys. 

****

Chapter Twenty

After three weeks, Moira had still not adjusted to living in Maine. For starters, she didn't like living by the water, and never had- even in Boston. Secondly, she was lonely. Elizabeth sent her two letters a week, but it wasn't the same as having someone around she could actually talk to. 

She was living in the teachers quarters of the school, which was empty due to summer term. It was nice to finally live by herself, but very quiet. Life with the newsies had taught her to appreciate silence when she had it- but now it was drowning her. The other teachers were very kind and hospitable, but Moira really had no one that she could connect with, no one to be friends with. 

It was cold, too. The third week of June, and it was cold. Not freezing, but cool enough that Moira needed a sweater if she wanted to walk around town. The only positive aspect of Portland was how well she was being paid for not doing anything at all. She was making twenty dollars a week, simply for being there, living at the school. She found it odd, not to mention an obscene amount of money, but said nothing, not wanting to upset anyone. 

It was raining. Moira had wanted to go down town to buy another set of stationery, to send the boys a letter, but if it was raining, there was no point. She sat down at the table in her apartment and dealt out a game of solitaire. Wishing she was loosing at poker, she placed the red seven on the black eight. There was knock on the door, she rose and opened it, surprised to see the postman, handing her not only the usual letter that came on Saturdays, but a medium-sized box. 

She thanked him and tore open the letter, deciding to read it aloud to herself, just hear someone speaking, 

"_Dearest Moira,_

_I realize that you may find my rush of correspondence a bit alarming, being as we have only met one time. But I look upon you as a friend, and I have a feeling you may be a bit lonely up in Portland. _

New York misses you, my dear Moira Bailey. I have been spending more time in Manhattan lately, looking for your Jack and David. I am sad to report that I haven't been able to find either. I even went as far as to ask one of the other newsies if they knew them, but he told me that they had gone to Santa Fe. Perhaps that makes sense to you, I couldn't make anything of it. 

Very well, onto the box. I saw it in a little shop when I was in Paris a few months ago and immediately thought of you. It will look beautiful on you. Enjoy it, and wear it when you visit New York. 

Fondly, 

Elizabeth" 

Moira set the letter down. Jack and David had gone to Santa Fe? Jack and _David _had gone to Santa Fe? She sat down for a minute, absorbing the information. They had just gone? Just like that? Scanning the words over again, Moira suddenly felt foolish. She had just packed up and left, without a moment's notice to anyone, where did it say they weren't allowed to do the same? In a way, she thought, it made a bit of sense. Jack had always wanted to go to Santa Fe- that's where he got his nickname, Cowboy, after all, so it made sense that he would go after all these years. But David? David, with his love of books and sensible thinking…what good would he be on a ranch? There were two sorts of people in this world; the sort who worked with their minds, and those who worked with their hands. Jack was the latter , he would fair fine in New Mexico. But David…that just confused her to no end. 

Still puzzled, Moira put the letter aside and turned her attention to the box that had accompanied the letter. She lifted the lid and pushed away the paper that rested on top, to reveal a square of pink, lacy fabric. Moira pulled the fabric out of the box by the corners and realized it was a summer dress. Quite a beautiful summer dress, that was the color the orchids in Central Park. She took it to the mirror and held it up to herself, admiring it. With a small smile, Moira quickly changed into her new dress and looked at herself in the mirror. 

It was light pink with a pink lace overlay, short capped sleeves, and lace at the bottom where it just grazed the floor. She had seen somewhere that the 'new trend' in Paris was the straight skirt, something that she had never worn. Twirling around, Moira saw that the skirt stayed put, and did not flare out in the slightest. It was kind of an odd feeling. She giggled, realizing how stupid she must look, spinning around in front of a mirror, and changed back into the clothes she had been wearing. 

She sat down and glanced over the letter again. Jack and David had gone to Santa Fe. _Enjoy it, and wear it when you visit New York. _Elizabeth's words of parting. Moira looked at the words, then at the dress they were referring too. _Wear it when you visit New York. _She sighed and looked out the window- when would that be?

***

Jack wanted to die. He'd been in Santa Fe for almost a month and his body had yet to adjust to the new schedule he and David had to follow. They woke up at four-thirty, splashed cold water on their faces, ate breakfast, and then were sent to work until five thirty with the other ranch-hands, doing daily chores and working with the cattle. 

He didn't mind ranching, and the open space of Santa Fe was breathtaking after spending eighteen years in New York City. However, waking up before dawn and working under the scorching sun all day was not making him a happy ranch-hand. Now, Jack had expected to work, there was no doubt about it, he knew that he would have to 'earn his keep,' but sheer exhaustion- stumbling into bed too tired to move, was something he hadn't counted on. He liked to work- but not having the need to fall over and never get up again would be nice. 

David, on the other hand, had completely shocked him. He _loved _Santa Fe. Jack had never seen him so happy after working so hard. Of course, Jack rarely saw David anymore. The family whose ranch they were hired onto had a daughter, Kora. She was quite pretty, long curly hair, brown eyes, and she loved to read- which was perfect for David- needless to say, they were hardly ever apart. Jack didn't mind, it was good for David to get his mind off of Moira.

Moira. Jack was doing his best not to think of her. How soft her hands always were, the smell of her hair, her laugh, her eyes…he slammed another nail into the fence he'd been mending. Thinking about Moira was painful. So was breaking you back underneath the blazing sun for twelve hours a day- but at the moment, he'd take physical pain over emotional.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked at the long line of fence he had yet to fix. It seemed to go on for miles. And beyond the fence were just miles more of open space. Miles and miles of nothing. Jack stared off down the row of fence. If the sun was hot enough, and he hadn't been drinking enough water, he could almost see the old skyline in the distance. Perhaps he missed it more than he'd thought. Jack quickly shook the thought from his head and pounded another nail into the fence. He was in Santa Fe, now, where he'd always dreamt of going. He was there now. And that's where he planned to stay. 

__

***

"So how are you, my dear girl?" Elizabeth asked, two weeks into Moira's first semester. She was standing by the windows, watching Moira drum her fingers on the end table to the right of the cream sofa.

"Fine, I suppose. Nothing out of the ordinary. How are you?" 

"Oh, just frustrated. I've gotten another letter from that damn painter in Paris." Moira had to laugh, Elizabeth's life was full of international lovers and admirers, it amazed her.

"What did he want this time?"

"Me to marry him. Can you believe it?"

"How this one approach you?"

"Just another letter filled with senseless poetry and promises he can't keep." Elizabeth produced a letter from her silk bag and set it in front of Moira, who skimmed it, laughing.

"You never cease to amaze me, Elizabeth, never." 

"Why is that, my sweet?"

"You have men all over the world contending for your affections, how do you keep up with all of them?"

"Darling, the trick is not to get attached to any of them. It's very easy to forget someone you never let yourself care about." Moira sighed at that and stared out the window, where it was raining again,

"I wish I could do that." 

"Goodness." Elizabeth sat next to her friend on the couch. "You're not still upset about that newsie chap, are you?" Silence, and a look from Moira told her all she needed to know. She sighed and took another letter from her clutch, "Your postman gave this to me to bring to you. Maybe it's good news." She added hopefully.

Checking the postmark, Moira sighed and slid her nail under the seal, breaking it and pulling out the letter. A glance at the loopy handwriting told her it was from her mother- and a letter from her mother was rarely good news. She read it quickly and then passed it to Elizabeth with mixed emotions. 

"She's getting married again?" Her British friend asked, confused.

"Yes. That's what she says. To a baron. A titled English gentleman- as if I would expect anything less for Kathryn." Moira told her, not sure if she felt bitter or just generally upset. This wasn't surprising. Kathryn Kloppman- Bailey was not one to go very long without being on a man's arm. 

"Well, what's wrong with that?" 

"I don't know." She sighed again. "Mother's gone. Jack's gone. David's gone. Sarah's gone…I just feel like my life in New York meant nothing at all." 

"You mustn't say things like that!" Elizabeth scolded, taking Moira's hands. "Of course it meant something. You fell in love! You made best friends…you met me for goodness sakes!" They laughed for a minute before sobering again. "You're not happy here, are you?" Moira shook her head, feeling tears come to her eyes. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. "Oh, my dear, sweet, lovely Moira. Well, if you're not happy, then there is absolutely no reason why you have to stay here." 

Moira pulled away, "what are you talking about?" She asked, confused.

"I'm talking about finding you a replacement, hiring you at my school, and bringing you home. To New York. Where you belong." 

"Elizabeth! It's not that easy! I have to stay here- I have a job now, remember?" Moira exclaimed, frustrated. 

"Yes, a job at a school that is in a partnership with the school that I happen to be headmistress of."

"What are you implying?" She asked, watching helplessly as Elizabeth stood up, straightened her suit, and started toward the door.

"Wait here. I shall return." The young redheaded woman told her mysteriously, closing the door behind her without another word…

Three hours later, Elizabeth strolled back into the apartment to find Moira playing solitaire in udder boredom.

"You have to stay until they can find a replacement." She told her in way of greeting.

"Well how long will that be?" 

"They said they will most likely have someone as early as the end of October." Elizabeth wore a smile of victory as Moira stood up and hugged her. She was leaving Maine, she was going to be a teacher at Sutherton, and she was goin home. 

***

As David strolled into the room he and Jack were sharing one night in early September, he saw his roommate throwing things into a beaten up suitcase.

"What are you doing?" He asked, startling his packing companion. Jack shrugged. "You're leaving?"

"Looks dat way don't it?" Jack replied, with an air of sarcasm and threw his last shirt into this case before closing it up. 

"Why? I thought you loved it here. I thought…"

"Well, ya t'ought wrong, Davey."

"You don't like it here?"

"I don't know. Santa Fe…just ain't wad I t'ought it would be, ya know?" David nodded, slowly with understanding. 

"Where are you going to go?"

"Where else?" Jack laughed. "Bein' out here made me realize wad a true New Yorker I am." It was David's turn to laugh,

"A true New Yorker, huh?"

"T'rough and t'rough."

"Do the Masons know you're leaving?" He asked, referring to the family who owned the ranch.

"Yeah. I talked ta Mr. Mason taday. They gots enough help with me gone- not ta worry." 

"Do you have money for a ticket home?"

"Davey- stop worryin' so much! I gots everyt'ing unda control." Jack sighed and looked around the room. "So I guess de only question I gots is are ya comin' wid me?" 

David pursed his lips together. It would be good to go home again, to see his family and all the other newsies- but something inside him told him that his home wasn't there anymore. Out here, he was in no one's shadow, he could work as hard as he wanted without anyone worrying about him…and he had Kora out here. "No. I think I'll stay here." The two men smiled at one another, "thanks for the offer though." 

"Anytime, Davey, anytime." Jack extended his hand, but quickly dropped it and pulled David into a hug. "Take care of yaself."

"You too." They let each other go, and Jack picked up his suitcase and headed out the door. 

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Mreh- I know that I'm way overly critical, but I don't like this chapter much. And, looking at the last line…I don't like it at all. But LORD! This thing followed me around like Samara in The Ring. Not fun. And now it's over. And I'm on to chapter 21. Enjoy, and as always, REVIEW! 


	21. Happy Tears

Disclaimer: Okay, we all know what I'm going to say. I own nothing, and I love you guys.

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Chapter Twenty-One

The October sunlight filtered through the dingy windows of the Lodging House bunkroom. There were five loud knocks on the door- the new wake-up warning. The man who had was now in charge of the LH, an old friend of Klopp's had taken to waking them up in a most impersonal way. One by one, the groggy boys stumbled to their feet and into the bathroom, getting ready with their usual joking and fooling around. 

Just as everyone was finishing up, there was another knock at the door. Wondering how little patience their new "chaperone" had, Pie Eater pulled open the door, only to feel his jaw drop at who was standing in front of him.

"Well hello, gentlemen. Did you miss me?" Moira asked, biting her lower lip. Within seconds, she was swarmed by all forty-seven newsies, laughing and talking excitedly.

"Whaddya doin' here, Moira?" Mush asked, once the excitement had calmed down. "Ya gettin' your old job back?" Moira smiled,

"No, actually. I'm going to be a teacher at Sutherton."

"Ain't dat all da way 'cross town?" Race wondered, scratching his head.

"Well, yes."

"Why ya gotta go all da way ova dere? Ya still gonna live 'cross da street?" 

"No, I have to live at the school." Shoulders slumped. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Perk up a bit! I'm still going to see you! I'll just be living somewhere else now." Moira thought for a minute, trying to cheer them up. "Why don't I come for a visit one night a week." 

"Three." Blink haggled. She laughed,

"Two."

"Deal." They shook hands, making everyone smile.

"So, you'se gonna be a teachah now, huh?" Race asked, after the newsies began making their way downstairs. 

"Yes, I am." 

"Didn't like Maine?"

"No, it wasn't what I had hoped for." Race was quiet for a few minutes, as they started downstairs as well.

"It's strange."

"What is?"

"Ev'yone's gettin' new jobs."

"What do you mean?" Moira asked, eyebrows furrowing, 

"You'se gonna be a teachah, Jack's a reportah now…"

"What?"

"Ya mean ya didn't know Jack was back?" Racetrack asked, incredulously.

"No." 

"He's been back for more den a month now. Ya really didn't know?"

"No, Race, I really didn't know." 

"Gawd! Well, he came back from Santa Fe- bout a month ago- an' Denton gave 'im a job as a reportah for da Sun." Race smiled. "He's pretty good, too." The young Italian looked at the clock on the wall and swore. "I gots ta go! It was great seein' ya though!" He hugged her quickly and took off for the distribution office. 

Moira, though mind racing with what he'd just told her, leaned against the wall and smiled. The man behind the desk looked at her quizzically, 

"Those are my boys, sir." She told him, never feeling happier that she'd come home.

***

Hunched over about a thousand sheets of papers, Jack kept crossing things out and re-writing them, hoping he was spelling things correctly. Being a writer wasn't as hard as he thought it was going to be. 

When he'd gotten back from Santa Fe, with his fortune of ten dollars in his pocket, Jack knew immediately that he couldn't continue to be a newsie- not when he was almost twenty years old. He didn't know who else to go to- so he had gone to see Denton, desperate for a job. Of course Brian gave him a job, he'd given him a story to work on that very day. 

Jack had only done two stories, but the feeling of pride he got when he saw his name in byline was something he hadn't experienced when he'd only been selling newspapers.

His office was cold that morning. Well, if you wanted to call it an office- it was more of a closet with a desk and coat rack. Still, it was better than nothing. 

"Dat doesn't sound right…" He took his pen and began crossing out sentences again. There was a knock at the door. Jack only glanced up enough to see a woman in a pink dress and a white sweater over her shoulders. He sighed; he didn't want to deal with women today. "If ya wanna place a personal add, ya gotta go and see Diana, she's down da hall to da right." He motioned with his hand, but didn't look up.

"Well, it's a personal matter…but I don't think it belongs in the newspaper." The woman came forward as Jack's head shot up at the sound of her voice. 

"Moira?" He couldn't believe his eyes. But there she was, standing in front of his desk in a pink dress with a white sweater. She smiled,

"I heard you were a big newspaper man now, had to see for myself." Jack stood up, unable to say anything. He couldn't believe how much he'd missed her, and how much more beautiful she'd gotten since he'd seen her last. 

"Believe it." He said, softly, holding his arms out to her. With tears in her eyes, Moira rushed into them, hugging him tightly.

"I missed you so much." She whispered, against his shoulder. 

"Oh, me too, Moira-girl. Me too." He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her face up to his, kissed her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, and finally, her lips, pulling her closer to him. "I love you, Moira Bailey." Jack whispered, once they'd parted. 

"I love you too." She smiled, tears running down her cheeks.

"Why ya cryin'?" He asked, completely confused. Moira laughed,

"I'm so happy." She exclaimed, kissing him again. Wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, Moira rested her head on his chest, breathing in his warm, soapy smell. "Could we just stay like this for the rest of our lives?" She asked, tears drying up.

Jack hugged her back and rested his chin on top of her head. 

"That was the plan." 

And that's exactly what they did…

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Okay- that's NOT ENTIRELY IT! Okay? But the next chapter is going to be my last. *SOBS* Thank you all, you've been wonderful. But right now, I have to go get a shower, and then I'm goin' to Kennywood! (amusement park) Much love! 


	22. That's all she wrote

Disclaimers: Last chappie folks. I'm very sad to see this end. Very sad indeed. But I don't own anything, as always, and I love you all. As always. Thank you for your love and support of my original character(s), I was afraid you would hate her. But you didn't! Thank you soooooooooooooooooo much. Hugs and brownies for everyone.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

"Terrorist!" Delaney yelled as a middle-aged white woman cut her off. "Stop looking for Osama Bin Laden! He's right here! Posing as Martha Stewart in the Elantra in front of me!" She screamed, hating how everyone else in the whole world drove. She put on her turn signal, pulled on to her street, and parked in front of her house.

Fishing her keys from her overly enormous purse, Delaney unlocked her home and pushed open the door. "Honey, I'm home!" She called into the empty house before she realized that it was Thursday- Keaton worked late on Thursdays. Deciding to take advantage of having the house to herself, Delaney set down her things, put on her pajamas, and ordered herself some pizza. 

Halfway through her extra-large, extra-cheesy slice of heaven, Delaney's attention was drawn to the big hole in the wall, leading down to the basement. She was almost done with the diary, much to Keaton's relief, but there was still so much to look at downstairs. All those people Moira had painted, family, friends, who were they? She looked at the clock- Keaton was due to be home in half an hour. Suddenly, she felt stupid for worrying when he came home. If she could come home late to find him eating Ben&Jerry's and watching Spongebob Squarepants in his boxers, he could certainly find her down in her basement doing work.

With that thought in mind, she turned on the faulty light and descended into history. She moved her favorite painting- the one of Jack with the baby- and sat down on the ancient sofa with the diary. Opening up to one of the last pages, she began to read.

__ _May 22nd, 1901_

Dear Diary,

It's a very strange feeling, to be standing on the edge of the rest of your life. Everything is about to change tomorrow- I'm getting married. This is not the first time since I moved to New York that I don't know how to express how I'm feeling. Joy, excitement, hope…these words all fit, but for some reason…they don't seem to be enough. I suppose what matters is that I know how I feel, not how I put it into words. Jack is the writer, after all, not me. 

I can scarcely believe how beautifully things have turned out, as I sit here and look at my wedding gown. The gown that Sarah made for me, most excitedly, when I told her. The same Sarah who is now set to marry that Mr. Rushworth she had left New York to go to work for. I was finally able to meet Kora, David's fiancée, yesterday when their train arrived from Santa Fe. David, much to my surprise, has offered to walk me down the aisle. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to have a best friend. I've missed him. Kora's lovely, though, I don't think I've ever met a sweeter person. 

Mother and the Baron were not able to make it back to New York for the wedding, but they sent quite a bit of money- that Jack and I plan to put toward our new house that we've been making payments on. Oh, it's just lovely. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a big kitchen and-most exciting- an enormous basement that Jack has suggested I use as my studio. That sounds awful funny- to think that I might have a studio. It's hard to believe, but I think Mother may have fashioned herself to accepting the fact that her only child is marrying someone that she hasn't hand-selected. I stopped caring what Mother thought about Jack a long time ago, but it is nice to have her blessing, if not permission.

I believe I'm on the verge of sheer exhaustion, but at the same time, brimming with anticipation for tomorrow. I've only just gotten back from the church, which that friend of Elizabeth's has turned into the most beautiful place on earth. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it! But I should sleep. 

It's a very strange feeling, thinking about everything that has happened since I came to New York, all the things I had to lose in order to get where I am today- and all the things I'm about to gain. It's just…strange. For instance, if I hadn't lost my father, Mother never would have thought of leaving Boston. And if Grandpa hadn't passed away, I never would have become friends with Jack. Life's funny, isn't it?

Well, I suppose this will be either my last, or one of my last diary entries, unless I decide to keep one later. So, Diary, thank you for listening. I'm going to go pour myself a glass of wine and toast to the rest of my life. Cheers!

Love always, 

Moira

Delaney read the last few lines, smiled, and closed the book, feeling tears in her eyes. It was over. There weren't anymore diaries- that was it. Her mission-to find out the story behind how MB became MK between '99 and '03, was completed. She knew now. 

She got to her feet and picked up the nearest painting. It was of the boy she understood to be Racetrack, holding hands with a very pretty woman. She turned it over and noticed something she hadn't seen before: at the bottom, left corner, written very lightly in pencil were the words '_Race and Tanya_.' It was dated '01, and Delaney had to wonder whether Moira had only started painting after she'd gotten married, because there were no paintings before 1901, only sketches. 

She turned back to the sofa and picked up her favorite picture again. Turning it over, she saw that it too had been labeled: _Jack with Emma_. Delaney smiled. Emma Kelly. Just thinking about it made her smile wider.

"Del?" Keaton's voice could be heard just before his wife saw him come down the stairs; she went back to the painting.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?" She asked, absentmindedly.

"What are you doing?" 

"Just, figuring out what I need to know."

"Delaney, I'm worried about you." He stated plainly. Her head shot up,

"Worried? About me?"

"Yes, you spend all your time down here, reading that damn diary and looking at pictures!"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I want you to stop! I want my wife back!" He exclaimed desperately. Delaney looked at the painting in her hands.

"I'll put it away tomorrow." She agreed, finally.

"No. Tonight, I'll help you." He went to pick up something.

"No, no, no! Don't- don't touch it. I'll do it. I promise. I'll be done in an hour, and then we can work on fixing the wall and figuring out what we want to do with the space. Okay?" Keaton looked at her for a while,

"I'm going to go take a shower and change-"

"I'll be done by the time you get back." She finished quickly. He nodded and went upstairs.

Delaney sat, surrounded by pictures, at a loss. She didn't want to give up Moira's life- she liked it, sometimes, much more than her own. And she didn't want to give up these paintings, because well, they had sort of become like family to her. But she had been pissing Keaton off for weeks, and that was never fun. So, it was with a heavy heart that she sighed, "Sorry guys," she told the paintings, "my life has to take priority over yours," and got to her feet.

Keaton would most likely want to use the space for something, so it would do no good to simply put things back the way she'd found it. But then what about all of the pictures? He wouldn't just throw them out, would he? No, she decided, he wouldn't. She picked up the sketchbooks, the diary, the pink dress she had been hanging up, and Moira's little box, and opened the trunk. 

She'd neglected, however, to ever take time to look at the actual photographs that were now left at the bottom of the black box. Putting everything aside once again, Delaney swept her hand along the bottom, pulling out the remains. In her hand were twelve pictures, and an envelope that felt full. She set the letter next to her and looked through the pictures. There were several of individual children on birthdays or holidays of some sort, one of four children, standing next to one another, looking like steps, all dressed up. On the back, it was labeled: _Emma, Ben, Nathan, and Danny. _Del grinned- four children. They were pretty kids, she thought, and went back to the pictures. 

The rest were snapshots of grown-up newsies. Racetrack, with that woman from the painting, Tanya- they were a cute couple. In the photo she was holding, they were both grinning like idiots, waving at the camera. She wondered who had enough money to even have a camera back then, but decided it had to have been David or someone like that. She flipped through the rest of the pictures, smiling at each one, as Moira and Jack's life became more real to her with each frame. 

When the pictures were finished, Delaney slowly began placing everything back in the trunk. She put the dress in first, followed by the sketchbooks, and the little box of mementos, and then she placed the little stack of pictures beside the box, and the diary on top of it all. When everything was neatly put away, she turned her attention to the letter that was resting beside her knee. 

Delaney slid a fingernail under the seal and broke it quickly, before feeling a hint of guilt. Soon, however, she realized that she had already read the poor girl's entire diary and rooted through all of her things- one more letter wasn't going to hurt anything. As she pulled the paper out of the envelope and opened it up, Delaney saw that it was not addressed to Moira, but started simply with _To whomever reads this._

Now curious, she read on.

__

February 1947

To whomever reads this,

_ By now, you've probably read Moira's diary, seen all the sketchbooks and paintings, and looked at her favorite pictures. Most people would think that all of that would be enough, but as I was glancing through her diary, I noticed that she never wrote anything after we got married. You can stop reading now, if you think this is going to bore you, but I'm going to take the liberty of filling in the gaps for you, as briefly as I can._

We moved into this house after getting married, in 1901, and then we had Emma, who brightened our lives like a permanent ray of sunshine. After her there was Ben, then Nathan, and then Danny. Moira still worked at Sutherton, so all the kids went there for free, while I kept on at The Sun. Moira used to laugh, a reporter who couldn't spell to save his life married an English teacher, and she was pretty sure it was fate. 

And everyone else? All of our friends? Well, Race married that Tanya girl, not long after Moira and I got hitched. They lived down the street for a long while, before moving, when their house got too small. Everyone else moved on, got real jobs and families, we've lost touch with most of them. David and Kora are still out in Santa Fe, they come visit every Christmas. Ever since Moira died last winter, they've been trying to get me to come out there with them. But my home is here, I know that. I love New York, and this house. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to sell it- I can't take care of it anymore. So, it's to a smaller apartment that I go. 

I was going to pack all of this stuff up, and put it in storage or something, but it didn't feel right. This was Moira's favorite place in the whole house, she'd spend hours down here, painting, or sometimes just sitting on the couch, looking at other paintings she'd already done. So, I'm not taking this stuff, it hurts too much to look at it. I'm going to keep everything exactly the way she left it, board up the wall, and just let fate do with it what She likes. 

That was it. That was our whole life, down here in this basement. I don't know if anyone will read this, but know that even now, as I'm sitting here, ready to leave, I can feel nothing but gratitude for my beautiful, ordinary life. Yes, if I can describe what Moira brought to my life in a single word, it would be BEAUTY. She made life simply beautiful. 

Sincerely,

Jack Kelly. 

Now, Delaney was crying. She'd made his life beautiful. The simplicity of that statement, and the understanding she now had for what life had been for them had brought tears to her eyes. It was so sad to think of Jack all alone in this house, after Moira had died. She started crying again.

"Del?" Keaton was standing at the foot of the stairs. When had he come down? "What's wrong?" He asked, concerned at the sight of his wife, practically weeping, holding a letter.

"He loved her so much." She choked out, showing him the letter when he came over and sat down next to her. He took it from her hands and skimmed it, while rubbing Delaney's back with a freed hand, hoping to calm her down. 

"Wow." He said, handing it back to her. 

"I know!" They sat there in silence for a few minutes until Delaney put the letter back in its envelope and laid it on top of everything in the box. 

"But, Del-"

"What?"

"This room, all these paintings, what are we going to do with them all?" He asked, finally realizing how much all of it meant to his wife.

"Well I can't just give them away! I mean, they're practically like family now!" She exclaimed wiping under her eyes. Keaton thought about this for a second, 

"Then why don't we hang them in our family room?" Delaney looked at him, shocked for a minute, before grinning widely.

And that's exactly what they did…

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Well, friends. That was it. That's all she wrote. I had a ball doing this story, your support means so much to me. Thank you for accepting Moira as a decent character, and realizing that there is a little Moira in all of us. I love you all! Cheers!

~Bella~

__


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